


Iridescent Lies

by TheLadyArturia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Drarry, M/M, Mind Healer Draco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 06:05:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 54,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12742470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyArturia/pseuds/TheLadyArturia
Summary: There is but one way to keep a secret: you lie. But how many lies can you tell, how many secrets can you keep, and at the cost of what? Harry's nightmares are back, and he finally decides that they're taking control of his life, so he decides to do something bout them. And in the process of finding a way to get rid of them, who does he end up meeting but Mind-Healer Draco Malfoy? A Drarry story.





	1. 1 Lie: Beginning of the Lies

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my very first and most beloved Drarry multi-chapter story that I posted on fanfiction.net. On popular demand, I decided to cross-post it here as well. It is complete, so you can expect regular updates every week/few days. 
> 
> This story focuses on Harry's relationships mostly, with Ginny, Hermione and Ron, his kids, and a bunch of other people, and not just the Drarry relationship. You don't have to mind the dates and times in the story; they were originally added just for my reference while writing but I decided to leave them in. 
> 
> Well, that's all from me, so do leave me a comment with your thoughts and subscribe to me/this story to be notified when I update! 
> 
> P.S. if any of you have Drarry headcanons that you would like me to write, go ahead and leave them in the comments and I'll do the needful. :)
> 
> Lots of love~
> 
> Arty xx

 

 

 

**Disclaimer: Anything recognisable belongs to our Queen, JKR. Everything else is mine.**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

**The Beginning of The Lies**

* * *

**[22 October 2011]**

**11:43 PM**

He awoke with a start, covered in sweat, panting and gasping for breath. He sat still, eyes darting around as he tried to see in the dark. Fumbling for a moment, he found his wand and cast a wordless _Lumos_ spell, slowly moving his hand in a wide arc. When he was convinced that there were no uninvited visitors in the room, he leant back against the pillows and sighed.

Breathing deeply, he focused on calming his racing heart as he swiped a hand across his sweaty forehead. Ginny stirred beside him, and he turned to find her watching him, bleary-eyed.

"Harry? What's wrong?" she rasped, her words thick with sleep.

"It's nothing; go back to sleep," he whispered. She eyed him for a moment longer before nodding and turning away.

He watched as her breathing slowed, and once he was sure she was back under the lull of sleep, he flicked his wand and muttered a few spells. When all the protective enchantments were in place, he set his wand down on the bedside table, cracked open one of the drawers, and, after some rummaging, pulled out a small vial. He squinted at the label, found it was the wrong one, and after searching for a moment longer, found the right one: a vial of Potion for Dreamless Sleep.

Tipping a substantial amount of the liquid down his throat, he returned it to its spot and lowered himself under the blankets, pulling it all the way up till his chin.

He stared at the ceiling till he felt the familiar tug of unconsciousness pull at his senses and willingly gave in as it drew him under its veil of blackness.

* * *

**[23 October 2011]**

**10:51 AM**

"You're getting nightmares again?"

He nodded as Hermione placed a steaming cup of tea on the table and eased into the chair across from him.

"Does Ginny know?"

"Of course not."

"How come?"

He rolled his eyes at her and said, "Because I didn't tell her. Why do you think?"

Hermione pursed her lips and clasped her hands together.

"So why is it that you're telling me this when your wife doesn't know?"

"If you didn't want me to tell you, you should have said so  _before_ I—"

"I didn't mean it like that," she cut in, waving a hand. "All I meant was that I'm surprised that you came to me first."

"You're my best friend, Hermione. What's so surprising about it?"

She opened her mouth to say something, but there was a ping from the kitchen and she bustled away. He sipped on his tea slowly as he waited for her to come back, and she did, about five minutes later, with a tray of freshly-baked biscuits in her hands.

She laid the biscuits out to cool on the side table and returned to her seat.

"So, as I was saying," she began as she took off her oven mitts and placed them on the table. "You should tell Ginny."

"Hermione, if I could talk to Ginny about this, I wouldn't be here, now, would I?" he snapped, frustrated that she wouldn't just let it go.

Being the stubborn person that she was, though, she simply gave him an endearing sort of look and sat back, as though waiting for him to explain himself.

He sighed.

"The kids will be back from the Burrow tomorrow, and if I tell Ginny that the nightmares about my memories of the war and all of my death-defying moments are coming back to haunt me when it's been a decade since the last ones…you know how she is, Hermione. She'll become hyper-conscious of every single thing that I do, and the kids will start to notice."

She had a thoughtful expression on her face and finally nodded. "I suppose you're right. She  _does_ take after her mother, after all."

He snorted at that and reached for a biscuit—only to have his hand smacked away. "Hey!"

"Let me cool it; don't be in such a rush," she admonished as she flicked her wand and cast a cooling spell on the tray. "There,  _now_ you can have some."

"May I?" he asked sarcastically, and she nodded, smiling.

"Yes, you may."

He rolled his eyes as he took a biscuit and bit into it, humming at the way it melted in his mouth.

"Is it good?" she asked nervously.

He wondered if he should pretend like it wasn't just to tease her but decided against it. Knowing Hermione, she'd probably make a new batch and force him to stay till they were done so he could taste-test them for her. "It's amazing! Who knew, huh?"

"And of course you have to say it in a way that makes me wonder if it's meant to be a compliment or an insult," she said flatly, looking miffed.

He grinned and relaxed, glad that he'd decided to come talk to her. "See? This is exactly why I came to you first. If you were Ginny, you'd be dragging me off to some Mind Healer just about now."

The corners of her mouth twitched as she tried to hide her smile. "Well, it's out of concern that she does what she does."

"I know that. Doesn't mean I have to be happy about it, though." He didn't mean to make it sound like he was complaining, but the way Hermione's forehead creased into a worried frown made him wave his hand and try to make light of his words. "It's like you and Ron, except Ginny's far more reasonable when she isn't being completely adamant about something."

Hermione didn't look very convinced, but before she could reply, there was the gush of the Floo and Ron's voice called from the next room.

"He's home early," Hermione said as she stood, making for the door.

Harry grabbed her arm and gave her a pointed look. "I hope you remember that I told you this in confidence."

She frowned. "I know, Harry, and I won't tell Ginny unless you want me to."

"It isn't Ginny I'm worried about."

Hermione's eyes widened and she got a slack-jawed expression on her face. "You want me to  _lie_ to Ron?" she whispered hurriedly as Ron's footsteps echoed down the hall.

"You don't have to lie, just…don't tell him the truth," he whispered back, giving her a furious look.

"It's the same thing!"

"No, it's not!"

"Hermione, give me a hand, would you? Didn't you hear me shouting from the next room?"

They broke off their glaring contest as Ron stumbled into the room, his arms laden with bags upon bags.

"What in heaven's name is all this stuff?" Hermione exclaimed, helping to extricate Ron from under the bags.

Harry took most of them from Ron and dropped them on the table and chairs, peeking into one out of curiosity. "Ron…is this what I think it is…"

"Harry! There you are! I went over to your place and Ginny told me you were here so I had to come all the way back," Ron rambled as he rummaged around inside a bag and pulled out several boxes.

"Here," he said, handing over a box to Harry. "This is for you. And these," he gave four to Hermione, "are for us!"

"Mobile phones?" Harry and Hermione said together, sharing a look.

"That's right! I saw these on sale when I was out buying things for the shop and I thought why not, you know?"

"No, I  _don't_ know," Hermione snapped, crossing her arms. "Please explain to me why you wasted so much money on buying  _more_ mobile phones when we already have enough?"

" _Wasting money_ , she says," Ron laughed, pecking his wife on the cheek. "Even though you're a Muggleborn."

"That has nothing to do with anything," Hermione huffed, going red in the face. "We already  _have_ mobile phones; why in the world do we need more?"

Ron frowned. "Because those aren't the newest kind."

Hermione gave him an incredulous look, as though she simply didn't see the logic behind his reasoning. "That makes no sense, Ron! We don't  _need_ new phones; the ones we have work perfectly fine!"

Sensing the beginning of another row, Harry tried to excuse himself without drawing too much attention. Unfortunately for him, Ron had other plans.

"Don't forget to take this, mate," he said, placing the box that Harry'd put down back in his hands and grinning at him. "I left Ginny one when I went over and tried to give her the ones for the kids but she insisted I speak with you first."

"I wonder why," Hermione grumbled from behind her husband as she inspected the boxes. "Ron! These are all the latest models! How much did you spend on these?"

He shrugged as he made to open one. "Dunno, I just handed over the money and the shop lady did what she had to."

Both Harry and Hermione stared at Ron.

"Alright, that's it, we're returning all of these," Hermione said crisply, piling the boxes together and putting them back in the bag.

"What, why? I paid a lot for those!"

"And for no reason, too! One phone, or even two, is understandable, Ron, but  _eight?_ "

"Ten, if you count mine and Ginny's."

"Ronald!"

"Alright, you two, that's enough. Ron, Hermione's right. We don't really have any use for these phones. Especially the kids. What're they even going to do with Muggle phones? I don't want them getting used to them at such a young age, and you know they don't work anywhere  _near_ Hogwarts' enchantments, let alone insidethem," Harry reasoned, putting the boxes in his arms away.

"Ah," Ron said, and Hermione smacked his arm. "Hey!"

"For goodness' sake, Ronald, please stop wasting money on rubbish," Hermione said sternly.

"Well, then, that's my cue to leave," Harry said just as Ron opened his mouth to retort.

"Oh, wait, I'll pack some of these biscuits for you and Ginny," Hermione said, emptying one of the smaller bags and placing half the biscuits in it.

"Thanks," Harry replied, and Hermione nodded, leading him out of the room. "Er, Hermione, I know where the Floo is—"

"You better decide how you're going to deal with your… situation, and you better do it fast. I can keep it a secret from Ron for as long as possible, but you live with Ginny, and she's much smarter than you give her credit for. You of all people should know that," Hermione scolded in a hurried whisper.

He nodded and hugged her before walking to the fireplace.

"Oh, and Harry?" she called as he stepped under the mantle and threw down the Floo powder.

"Yeah?"

"Take care of yourself."

* * *

**12:02 PM**

"Oh, good, perfect timing. Here, help me with this."

He walked up to where Ginny was trying to keep a rather large banner hanging in mid-air and held up one end to keep it steady.

"What's this?" he asked curiously, leaning over to eye the blank banner.

"A little higher, Harry, that's right," Ginny said, ignoring his question. He raised his hand as she fiddled with the other end, moving her wand slowly so it didn't drop.

"What's this for?" he asked again as she took a step back to admire her handiwork.

"Angie's birthday," came the distracted reply, and he sighed as he watched her pin the edge to the curtain.

"How much longer do I have to hold this up for?" he called when she left the room, muttering to herself.

"One more minute! Gosh, you act as though I'm forcing you to do it," came the muffled reply, and he sighed in annoyance.

Lately, his relationship with Ginny had gotten sort of… tense, if he had to put it in a nice way. He had thought that he was at fault, at first, considering how much he'd been away recently due to all the Auror work, and his insomnia, but Ginny wasn't making it any better.

Initially, she hadn't really complained all that much, saying she understood that his work was important, but during the past couple months, she'd constantly been on edge. The stress from the upcoming tournaments she was supposed to cover was taking a toll on her. Considering that—and her already-fiery temper—Harry had decided to ship the children off to all their cousins' houses every chance he got. It was either that or deal with everyone screaming at the top of their lungs and Lily's incessant crying.

He had decided to take the week off from work when the kids got back from their weekend at the Burrow, and Ginny had promised to do the same as well, but he could sense that she wasn't wholly happy about it. In fact, she seemed to get grumpier by the hour, constantly complaining about something or the other and cleaning the house over and over again.

She needed a break from their everyday life.  _They_ needed a break, and he planned to make use of the upcoming week for just that, but somehow he had a feeling his wife had other plans.

"Ginny, do I  _have_ to hold this up? Can't I just Levitate it?" he yelled when it didn't seem like she was coming back anytime soon.

When there was no answer, he swore under his breath and, pulling out his wand, pointed it at the banner.

" _Wingardium Leviosa."_

The large streamer fluttered and then hovered in place. He slowly raised his wand till both ends were level and then nodded.

Ginny came bustling in just then, her arms laden with colourful party decorations. She took one look at the floating banner, and then at Harry's wand, and with a satisfied nod, went about her business. He sighed as he eased into the nearest armchair, leaning back and resting his elbow on the armrest as he kept the banner hovering in mid-air.

"So why exactly do I need to keep this thing hanging in the air when you're clearly not doing anything with it?" he asked as Ginny began to string together some of the decorations.

"Oh, you can put it down now," she replied offhandedly, without looking up from what she was doing.

Exhausted as he was from his lack of sleep and all the recent stress, he managed to lower the banner to the ground while muttering in complaint, sat back, and let his eyes slip closed.

Ginny started humming after a minute—a song that he recognised from their wedding day. It was the one that they had shared their first dance to. He smiled as he let the melody lull his tired mind into the much-needed realm of sleep.

* * *

_When he opened his eyes, it was to the sight of a burning ocean. He cried out as waves of lava lapped against the rocky shore and scrambled onto the jagged boulders in order to escape the molten undulations._

_He had just made some headway up the rather unstable peak when it began to crumble, turning into fine sand under his fingertips. Watching as the dark granules flowed down his palm, he shuddered as the shrill call of a bird echoed above him._

_A Phoenix circled just below the stormy clouds, its fiery wings outstretched and its beak parted in song. He could barely hear its woeful cries as the waves continued to crash against the rocks, their molten touch eating away at everything they came in contact with._

_The Phoenix continued to sing as he began to climb the collapsing rock, his footholds falling away the second he raised his toes off of them. Gasping for breath, suffocated by the smoke that rose from the ocean of lava, he struggled in his ascent, eyes watering as he tried to see through the thick cloud of dust._

_He had just reached the top, exclaiming with joy, when a shadow loomed over the edge. Fumbling for his wand, he realised he didn't have it on him, and he watched as the smoke cleared to reveal the sneering face of Voldemort._

_In his moment of shock, his hold on the grimy surface slipped, and he was falling, straight into the burning ocean—straight into hell._

* * *

**4:13 PM**

He jerked awake, raking a hand through his hair and finding it wet with sweat. He sat up, disoriented and confused. It took him a moment to find his wand and another moment to Summon his glasses. He placed them on the bridge of his nose and scanned the living room.

The sun had gone down, so he had been asleep for a good portion of the afternoon, and Ginny's decorations and banner were no longer strewn across the floor. In fact, it seemed like there had been no sign of activity in the room for quite a while.

Panicking, and still disoriented from his nightmare, he stumbled out of the armchair, calling for his wife.

"Ginny! Gin, where are you?"

He eyed the shawl that had fallen to the floor when he'd stood and picked it up just as Ginny rushed into the room.

"I'm here, Harry. What's wrong?" she asked, her brown eyes wide with worry.

He shook his head and hugged her, kissing her hair. "No, it's nothing. I thought you weren't home."

"I was in your study," she said, holding him close and giving him a searching look. "Did you have another nightmare?"

"No," he answered rather forcefully, making her frown.  _She's already suspecting that my nightmares are back,_ he thought in alarm. "No, I'm not. I just woke up and didn't see the banner and the other stuff, so I thought you'd left."

Ginny shook her head. "Why would I leave? I just moved everything to your study because I had more access to stationery there."

"Yeah," he said, laughing lightly. He was being paranoid for no reason. The nightmares were starting to affect him far more than he wanted them to.

"Harry?"

"Yeah, no, you're right. I just panicked, sorry."

She watched him for a moment longer and then offered him a small smile. "Why don't I make you a cup of tea?" she asked, pecking him on the cheek.

"That would be great, thanks," he said with a smile.

She nodded and walked to the kitchen isle, giving him a moment to calm himself. He inhaled shakily and ran the tip of his wand over his body and clothes, cleaning himself with a simple freshening charm Hermione and Ginny had stumbled upon when trying and failing to get the kids to clean themselves.

He walked over to the counter and perched on the seat, placing his arms on the tabletop and leaning forward with a sigh. His eyes slipped half-shut as he watched Ginny pour the tea into a rather large mug and place it in front of him.

"You look exhausted," she commented as he took the mug without complaint.

"Been having a tough week at the office," he murmured as he sipped the scalding liquid, revelling at the burn in his throat.

She hummed as she rummaged through the cupboards and extricated a bottle of Firewhiskey from the back of a cabinet. She held it out to him, and he raised his eyebrows.

"Alcohol before dinner?" he asked, although he pushed his mug forward and let her pour a generous amount into it.

"It's not every day that you get to sit down and relax and have some Firewhiskey with your tea," she answered as she brought out a glass for herself.

"When have I ever had Firewhiskey with my tea?"

"Exactly," she said, tipping her glass towards him with a wink.

He couldn't help but grin at that. It had been a while since the feisty Ginny he'd married had resurfaced over the rather stressed out, easily angered one she had turned into lately.

"So," he started as she downed her drink in one shot. "I was thinking we really should spend this week away from home like we'd planned. Take the kids out. Have some fun."

He watched as she poured herself another glass and swirled the dark liquid around, staring at it without replying.

"Or maybe not the whole week," he said quickly, not wanting to ruin the homely mood they had just created. "At least a few days after the kids get back—"

"I can't."

Taking a long swig from his mug, he let the angry burn of the Firewhiskey trail down his throat before he placed it down and sighed. He had expected this sooner or later, but he had hoped it would be later.

"Why's that?" he asked, conscious to keep the accusing tone from his voice.

"It's Angie's birthday—"

"As you've told me already. What does that have to do with anything?"

She winced at the sharpness of his tone, but he didn't feel guilty about it. He finished the rest of his mug and poured himself more Firewhiskey.

"Harry, haven't you had enough—"

"Answer the question," he snapped irritably.

She sighed as she tapped her glass, staring at the tabletop and refusing to meet his eye. Frustrated by that, he reached forward and, placing his finger under her chin, forced her to look up at him. The second he saw the turmoil in her eyes, though, his anger seemed to dissipate—although it didn't disappear completely. What had been a furious rumble had simmered down to a quiet hiss.

"Ginny," he urged, and she pulled away, dropping her gaze once again.

He waited, knowing that she would tell him eventually. If there was one thing he had learnt from being married to her for a little over a decade, it was that Ginny was someone who needed to be given space and time, and lots of patience. She would come forth with whatever she wanted to say on her own, and pressurising her wouldn't help in the least. In fact, pushing her worked to the opposite effect.

"It's just," she finally began, after fiddling around with random things kept on the counter. "Angie said something a few weeks ago… and I thought it would be a good idea…"

When she didn't continue even after a long pause, he shifted in his seat and asked, "What did she say?"

Ginny looked up at him then, and he instantly recognised the guilt and fear in her eyes. She thought she was doing something terrible. Knowing that itself placated him far more than anything she could have told him, would have. He could take a guess as to what this grand plan of Angelina's was, but he wanted to hear it from Ginny, so he relaxed his features into a reassuring smile and nodded.

She inhaled and then blurted out whatever she wanted to say as quickly as possible. "Angie managed to get a week off from the Harpies because of her sprained wrist. She's been instructed not to play till the tournament practices begin. So since she has the time off anyway, and her birthday's coming up, she wanted to take us girls out on a trip."

Unsure of why exactly Ginny had such a hard time telling him this story, he frowned and nodded.

"Yeah, alright. How long will you be gone?"

Ginny looked up at him, a disbelieving look on her face. "You're OK with me going?"

He shrugged. "Sure, why not? Angelina's probably having a hard time as it is, being banned from Quidditch and all, plus I know you've been quite stressed out about covering the tournament this season, so it'll be good for you."

Sipping on his drink, he watched as Ginny fumbled around, looking lost for words. He wasn't really sure  _why_ she was reacting that way and wondered if he would ever find out—or if he even wanted to.

"Well, I suppose so, but…"

"But?" he prompted, sitting back in his seat.

"You've been looking forward to this trip for quite a while now _,_ and you even took time off from work and everything…"

He shrugged. "You'd made these plans a while back, I'm assuming, and I know how important your friendship with Angelina is… besides, I can still take the kids out, though it won't really be the same without you."

She half-sighed, half-gasped as she hugged him awkwardly over the table top, kissing him on the cheek. "Oh, Harry, thank you for being so understanding."

"I'm your husband; that's what I do," he said, raising his mug in a toast.

She laughed airily and almost skipped around the counter, kissing him again and all but running out of the room with a hurried, "I absolutely  _must_ tell everyone the good news."

He watched her disappear out the door and turned back to his drink, staring at the remnants of it at the very bottom of his mug. A nagging sensation was tugging at the back of his mind, but he ignored it as he finished off the last bit of Firewhiskey and moved to the sink to rinse the mug clean.

Whatever it was that Ginny wasn't telling him—and she most definitely wasn't telling him the entire truth—would come out sooner or later. He wondered if this trip was what had put her in such a foul mood lately, and decided that their conversation had been for the best.

The kids would be home in less than a day, and his nightmares weren't going anywhere, so the happier Ginny was, the better. It would be simpler to keep his insomnia a secret from her when she was busy doing whatever she wanted to do than when he could constantly feel her intent gaze follow him around all day long.

He sighed, deciding that he may as well finish off what little bit of paperwork he had left since he wasn't about to get any sleep that night anyway.

* * *

**[24 October 2011]**

**3:34 AM**

He started awake and blinked, stretching as he realised he had fallen asleep over his paperwork. The lights were turned off, and he figured it must've been Ginny's doing. Yawning, he eyed the clock on the desk and his eyebrows shot up.

_Half past three? How long have I been asleep?_

He scratched his chin as he looked around, sleep clouding his vision. Groaning softly, he stretched his hand out to turn on the table lamp when he heard some rustling from the side. He went rigid, now wide awake, all his senses focused on the soft sound coming from his left.

Slowly reaching for his wand without a sound, he waved it so the door eased shut. Unable to make out the dark figure—who had not yet realised that he was awake—he flicked his wand again and all the lights in the study came on.

Squinting from the sudden brightness, it only took him a second to recognise who the intruder was.

"Ginny?" he asked, incredulous.

She stared at him wide-eyed, doubled over as she reached for something. Straightening up, she watched him, weary, her cheeks flushed and a guilty expression on her face.

"I…was just—" she blustered, motioning to the pile of party decorations and the rolled banner under her arm.

He frowned and shook his head. "Ginny, it's nearly four in the morning. What the hell are you doing?"

She placed the things in her arms down and turned to face him, pushing her short hair out of her face.

"I thought I'd come call you to bed, but I saw you sleeping and tried to wake you up, and when you wouldn't, I decided I didn't want to bother you, so I was about to leave—"

"And you decided to take the streamers with you?" he asked, the disbelief clear in his voice.

"No, I just thought—I nearly tripped over them so I was picking them up—"

"With the lights off?"

"I didn't want to disturb you!"

He shook his head, unconvinced. His irritation was rising back to the surface, and he wasn't in the mood to listen to his wife lie to his face in the middle of the night.

"Go back to bed," he told her, when she looked like she wanted to say something else. Whether it was his expression or his tone of voice, or whatever else, she simply nodded and moved towards the door.

Just before she stepped out, though, she bundled up the streamers and banner and everything else in her arms, and shut the door behind her. He stared at the dark wood and ruffled his hair in frustration.

He had been under the impression that Ginny's weird behaviour had more to do with the fact that he had been tense and moody of late, or the stress from her work, and after their previous conversation, Angelina's birthday, for some odd reason, but the way she was acting was far too suspicious. Grinding his teeth, he turned back to his unfinished paperwork, pushing Ginny and their troubled relationship aside for the morning.

* * *

 


	2. 2 Lies: Conflicting Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny's suspicious behaviour is causing all sorts of thoughts to go off in Harry's head, and just after a pleasant afternoon reuniting with the kids and getting some work done, she stumbles into his study, drunk. Although their banter is affectionate and leaves Harry with warm feelings, a sudden phone call for Ginny from an unfamiliar number sets Harry off once again. What is it that his wife is hiding from him, and how many more lies will they tell each other?

**Chapter 2**

* * *

 

**Conflicting Lies**

* * *

**[24 October 2011]**

**10:03 AM**

He had barely stepped out of the fireplace when two little figures barrelled into him, clinging on to his legs. Laughing, he supported his sons as they began to climb up his sides—something they did every single time they saw him after a rather long period of time.

"Boys! At least let your father come inside," Molly admonished, trying and failing to extricate the two from their father.

"It's good to see you, Molly," he said as he hugged the Weasley matriarch awkwardly around the boys.

"It's wonderful to see you too, Harry darling," Molly replied, kissing him on both cheeks. "Oh! I've made your favourite—Treacle Tart!"

"Tart!" the boys cheered. He laughed as he held onto Albus as the five-year-old swung from side to side.

"I won!" seven-year-old James yelled, propping himself atop Harry's shoulders.

"But I hugged Daddy first," came Albus' muffled reply as he snuggled into Harry's chest.

"But I won!" James yelled again and stuck his tongue out at Albus.

"Daddy," Albus whined, and James sniggered.

"Jamie! Al!" came Ginny's voice as she stepped out of the fireplace.

"Mummy! Daddy!" came a high pitched squeal simultaneously as three-year-old Lily, who looked like a wrapped toffee in Ginny's old pink apron and hairnet, came running into the room.

"Hi, Lils," Harry said, picking her up with one arm as Albus swung from the other.

"Alright you guys, come on, give Daddy a break," Ginny said as she pulled James off from Harry's shoulders.

"Nooo!" he yelled, kicking his legs and struggling in his mother's arms.

"Jamie!" she scolded, placing the boy on the ground.

"Mummy, are we going home now?" Albus asked, coming to stand before Ginny and looking up at her wide-eyed.

"Yes, sweetheart, we are," she said gently, brushing the hair out of his eyes and kissing his forehead.

"Why?" the boy asked, pouting. "Uncle Georgie said he'd take us flying!"

"He will do no such thing!" Molly called as she bustled into the living room, several plates holding large pieces of tart floating after her. "Now, who wants tart?"

Effectively distracted, the three children cheered and sat cross-legged on the floor, watching excitedly as their grandmother Levitated the plates down to them.

"Dig in!" Molly said, and the kids did just that, spraying the tart everywhere.

He grinned as his plate floated over to him, and with a quick "Thanks," sat down and began digging in himself.

"Looks like it's straight into the bath for the whole lot of you as soon as we get home," Ginny said as she sat down beside Harry, pulling her own plate close to her.

"Or you could just use that cleaning charm on us and no one would be the wiser," Harry said around a piece of tart.

She shot him a look, and he grinned.

Lily screamed just then. James had apparently stolen a piece of her tart and was holding it at arm's length, and Albus, who was staring at the piece of tart, ate it clean off James' fork. That led to a wrestling match between the two brothers while Lily cried for a bit before spotting her brothers' plates and dumping the contents on to her own. By the time James and Albus realised what had happened, Lily was patting her stomach, her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk's, a satisfied smile on her face.

And then all hell broke loose.

He had to hold the boys back as Ginny kissed her mother and, with a hurried goodbye, stepped into the Floo carrying a screaming Lily. Molly instantly procured two more plates of tart, and Albus and James ate their share happily. Harry gave her a grateful smile as the older woman came to stand beside him.

"They must've been more than a handful," he said, rather apologetic about it.

"Nonsense! I've raised six boys and a girl. Two of whom were Fred and George, mind you. These three were absolute darlings in comparison."

He grinned at that and watched as his sons finished their plates, raced to the sink, climbed up on to the stools placed in front of the counter, and rinsed their plates clean.

"What did I say," Molly said affectionately as she ushered the boys away from the sink.

"We'll come again, Gram'ma!" Albus and James chorused as Harry helped them into the Floo.

"I'll make you your favourite treats!" Molly called, waving at them with a wide smile on her face.

"Thanks again," Harry said, hugging her.

The corners of her eyes crinkled as she patted his arm and nodded. "You take good care of them, Harry."

He smiled. "I will."

Stepping into the Floo, Harry stood between the two boys, making sure that both were holding on to him, and with a final wave to Molly, threw down the Floo powder.

* * *

**2:58 PM**

He sighed as Lily began to cry,  _again_ , the volume of her shrill wails rivalling that of James' angry shouts. Rising from his desk, he trudged downstairs, rubbing his eyes.

"Guys, come on, Daddy's working, can we please not fight?" he said as he entered the living room.

Lily instantly ran to him, and he picked her up, hoisting her on his hip and wiping the tears from her cheeks. He turned to see James standing with his arms crossed and an almighty scowl on his face.

He sighed again. "Alright, what happened?"

Both children started talking at once, and he nodded, barely listening to whatever great crime Lily had committed that James couldn't forgive.

"It took me  _three days_  to make it! It's a  _masterpiece_!"

"He toldme sit, I sitted!"

He raised his eyebrows at his son, more curious about where James had learnt the word  _masterpiece_ than about what this so-called masterpiece was.

"Alright, where's it broken?" Harry asked, putting Lily down and squatting beside what looked like a rather large, lopsided yellow tricycle. He frowned. "Jamie, where did you get this?"

"I  _made_ it!" came the indignant reply, and Harry gave his son a pointed look.

"So you're telling me you  _made_ this complicated looking tricycle? All on your own?"

James hesitated for a moment and started to nod before shaking his head. "Gran'pa got it for me, but I painted it!"

He groaned. Trust Arthur to buy his seven-year-old son a  _tricycle_. Sometimes he wondered if the older wizard was under the impression that if he pretended like the kids were younger than they were, they wouldn't grow any faster. It seemed to be working, in a way, because no matter what Arthur bought any of his grandchildren, they adored it all the same. It was rather mind-boggling, considering the brats wouldn't even cast a second glance towards it if their parents ever tried to buy it for them. Grandparents were miracle workers, he'd come to learn.

"Lily, what did Grandpa get you?" he asked, knowing that it was impossible to get only one of the three a present.

"This!" she said proudly, holding out a large, blonde doll. It looked suspiciously like the ones that were all the rage in Muggle London.

"And Al?"

"A red tricycle!"

Rubbing his face with his palms, he made a mental note to remind Ginny to sit her father down and tell him to stop spoiling their kids rotten. Every time they dropped the kids over at the Burrow, which was more often than he'd like to admit, the trio would return with some present or the other. It was bad enough that they barely hesitated before demanding for something—and that he and Ginny bought it for them without question. It was about time to draw a line. He refused to let his kids grow into spoiled brats. The next thing he knew, they'd be counting their presents by the dozen.

The memory that brought on was not a pleasant one, and he rose to his feet, pulling his wand out. He waved it at the tricycle, fixing the lopsided seat that was far too small for James. Nevertheless, his son seemed immensely happy that his tricycle was fixed again.

"Thanks, Dad!" James cried as he pranced around the cycle, and Lily looked on, wide-eyed.

He was just about to return to his study when Lily grabbed his shirt.

"When're Mummy and Al coming?" she asked and he checked his wristwatch.

"They should actually be home any minute now with your Aunt Hermione."

Even as the words left his mouth, there was the whoosh of the Floo and Albus' voice. A minute later, Albus was running into the living room, mouth wide open as he pointed to the gaps where his pre-molars used to be.

"They're finally gone!" he exclaimed, referring to his missing milk teeth. They hadn't fallen out and had to be removed since the new ones were already growing in.

Ginny had gotten paranoid about it because Rose had apparently lost all of hers and Albus still hadn't lost all of his. So Hermione had spoken to her dad and Ginny'd taken Albus to see Mr Granger the second he had stepped out of the bath.

When Hermione entered the living room, she looked far more relieved than any of them.

"I'm so glad Rosie lost all her milk teeth. I never want to go through that again," she said in a low voice as James and Lily began to narrate the story of the tricycle breaking in loud voices.

"That bad?" Harry asked, grinning at her.

"Worse," she replied, sniffing. "Ginny nearly had an aneurysm when Dad brought the syringe close to Al. I swear, I wasn't sure who was the one to get their teeth pulled out by the end of it."

"C'mon, she couldn't have been  _all_  that bad," Harry laughed as Albus asked Ginny to bring his tricycle down so he and James could ride them behind the house.

"I've never really seen her like that," Hermione said softly as they watched Ginny and the kids troop out of the room. She turned to him and shook her head. "It made me quite nervous to see how panicked she seemed."

He tried to laugh it off as he led Hermione to the sofa, but she really  _did_ look rather shaken up.

_Just what happened at the dentist's?_

"So, have you told her yet?"

He groaned loudly and let his head drop. "Hermione," he grumbled.

"I'm only concerned!" she said defensively, and he knew she was bristling without having to look at her.

"I know you are, but no matter how many times you ask me, the answer's going to remain the same," Harry said, serious. "You know what happened the last time people found out I was getting nightmares. Besides, I'm dealing with them."

Hermione pursed her lips, looking unconvinced, and cocked her head, as though listening for Ginny and the kids. There were excited shouts and giggles and the sound of the back door opening and shutting. He craned his neck and peered out the living room window, smiling as he watched James and Albus zoom around the grass on their brand new tricycles—that were several sizes too small for them.

"Where did they even get those? Wait—don't tell me—Arthur?" Hermione asked, a knowing expression on her face.

"What did he get Rosie and Hugo?" Harry asked, chuckling at the face she made.

"He got Rosie a wooden rocking horse and Hugo, a very large orange car."

Harry threw his head back and laughed, finding her tone of voice and facial expression far more hilarious than the actual tale. She didn't look very impressed, though.

"I mean, a  _rocking horse,_ for heaven's sake! Rosie's  _five,_ not three!"

"I'm sure she loved it, though," he said with a grin, and Hermione shook her head in frustration.

"She  _adores_ that ridiculous thing. And Hugo even carries his car into the bath—the paint's already started chipping."

Harry nodded in understanding, watching his sons ride their brightly coloured tricycles. "I never thought I'd see the day when Jamie would ride a tricycle. I mean, the tantrum he threw when we told him we'd get him one three years ago. He refusedto even sit on it because, and I quote, ' _It's for babies'_."

"Look at them having the time of their lives," Hermione said fondly, although she made a face when Albus fell off his tricycle and abandoned it. 

"Jamie's been wanting a cycle without training wheels, and Al refuses to get one with them because Jamie doesn't want them." Harry sighed, shaking his head.

When Hermione didn't answer, he looked up to see a rather nostalgic smile on her face.

"What?" he asked, ready to take offence if she was making fun of him.

"No, I was just thinking—it only seems like yesterday that the lot of us were running around Hogwarts, and now, look at us… sitting and complaining about what toys _our_   _kids_ like and don't like…"

"Yeah," Harry said, standing up to go sit beside her. "Time really flies, doesn't it?"

"It does."

They sat watching the kids run around the garden till Ginny stormed into the kitchen, a tricycle in each hand.

"I don't care if I've to buy them cycles  _without_  training wheels, I absolutely  _refuse_ to have my sons ride these ridiculous things," she said, tossing the brightly coloured tricycles to the ground.

Harry grinned at Hermione, and she shook her head as Ginny strode out with a mighty huff.

* * *

**11:45 PM**

There was a knock on the door, and he looked up as Ginny poked her head into his study.

"Hey..."

"Hey," he said, placing his quill down and sitting back as she walked in.

She came to stand beside his desk, running a finger along the surface and biting her lip. He frowned.

"Ginny? What's going on?" he asked, the worry starting to build up from the pit of his stomach. She was behaving rather suspiciously.

"Well," she drawled, coming around the desk to stand beside his chair. "The kids are asleep…"

"Yeah," he said slowly as she leaned down, her eyes hooded.

"So I was thinking... maybe we could crack open a bottle of wine… have a nice night… just the two of us…"

He leant forward and sniffed, blanching at the heavy scent of alcohol on her breath.

"Ginny, how much have you had to drink?" he asked, standing up and holding her by the arms.

"Not much?" she said as she teetered and fell against him with a giggle.

He bit back a sigh as he steered her out of the study. "All right, come on, let's get you to bed."

"Noo," she whined, placing her hands on either side of the door and refusing to budge.

"Ginny—" he hissed, trying to pry her hands off the wood, "let go, damnit—"

"Don' wanna!"

After five minutes of fruitlessly trying to get her to let go, he sighed and let his head fall onto her shoulder. He stayed that way for a long moment and felt Ginny drop her arms and intertwine her fingers with his. Raising his head, he kissed her shoulder and she looked back at him.

"Hey," he said softly, nuzzling his nose against hers.

"Hi," she whispered back, smiling. "I'm really drunk," she added, biting her lip to stifle a giggle.

He chuckled. "Yeah. Do you wanna maybe let me walk you out, now?"

"To the living room," she said adamantly and he smiled.

"Sure."

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"You know I love you, right?"

He looked at her curiously. "Of course I do," he said, pressing his lips to hers.

"Even though sometimes it doesn't seem like it?"

"When that time comes, I'll make sure to tell you," he said, and she gave him a watery smile and nodded.

He helped her out of the study and down the stairs, carrying her down the last few steps because she started giggling uncontrollably. Putting her down on the sofa, he went to get her a glass of water, but by the time he got back, she was curled up, fast asleep.

Smiling, he brushed the hair out of her face and was just about to Transfigure the cushion at her feet into a blanket when a soft tinkling caught his ear. Curious, he looked around till he found the source of the sound—which turned out to be a mobile phone, probably the one Ron had given her, in the pocket of her coat that hung on the stand by the front door.

He stared at the unfamiliar number but received the call anyway, but before he could say anything, the person on the other end began to talk.

 _"_ Oh, good, I caught you in time!"

 _Angelina? Why's she calling from an unknown number?_ he thought.

 _"_ So, about this week, what's the plan? Do you want me to drop you off at the station or somewhere nearby? And when am I picking you up, Thursday or Friday?"

The line went silent as Angelina waited for a reply—which he didn't give because he was rooted to the spot, his mouth hanging open.

Why was Angelina asking  _Ginny_ what the plan was? Wasn't it  _her_ birthday trip? And what was this whole thing about dropping her off at the station and picking her up a whole five days later?

Where was Ginny  _going?_

"Gin, are you there? Listen, if you don't want to do this, it's fine, I'm sure he'll understand—"

Panicking, Harry disconnected the call, his heart thundering in his chest. What had just happened? Why had Angelina gone out of her way to call from another number instead of her normal phone or the home phone?

And  _where_ was Ginny going?

Tapping the phone against his chin, he began to pace, his mind whirring from the new information he'd just received. So Ginny was going somewhere, but it wasn't with Angelina. Or maybe it  _was,_ except she was making a stop somewhere else first—

_For five days?_

He shook his head. Maybe he was just reading too much into the whole thing. There was a lot of background noise on Angelina's side, so she could have been out, which meant that maybe she was using a borrowed phone or a payphone because she didn't have her phone on her…

_And who was the guy she was referring to?_

Pausing in his pacing, Harry frowned, confused. Had Angelina been talking about  _him_?

But if it  _was_ him, then why was she talking as though  _he_ was the one who had forced Ginny to go on the trip? He started to pace again but stopped short as a thought came to him.

_Did Ginny lie to Angelina?_

There was a groan from the living room and he snapped his head towards the door, his heart lurching. Ginny moaned again, and Harry hurriedly dropped the phone in the coat pocket and strode into the living room.

She was reaching for the glass of water, and he helped her with it, placing it to her mouth and tilting it as she gulped down every last drop. She sighed, her eyes fluttering shut, and he Transfigured the cushion into a blanket, draping it over her and tucking her in.

He stilled as she snuggled into the blanket, her breathing slowing as she went back to sleep. Leaning down, he made to kiss her hair, but paused at the last minute and pulled away.

Stroking his chin and feeling sick all of a sudden, he walked to the cabinets behind the kitchen isle and rummaged for a bottle of Firewhiskey. He found four—two were sealed, one was half-full, the one they'd opened yesterday, and the fourth was empty.

Picking up the empty bottle, he stared at it for a long moment and sighed. Grabbing the half-full one, he started to stand and then grabbed a sealed one as an afterthought. He placed the empty bottle in the space under the sink, grabbed the mug he'd used the previous evening, and made his way back to his study, casting one final look at his sleeping wife.

The second he had shut the door to his study, he placed a Muffling Charm on it so if he drank himself to oblivion, he wouldn't wake up to the kids' shrill screams. Placing the bottles and mug on the desk, he waved his wand and cleared the last bit of paperwork he'd left for later, opening the half-full bottle with his free hand and filling the mug to the brim.

He stared at it for a long moment, regretting what he was about to do already, and, with a shrug, brought the mug to his lips.

* * *

_He was standing in the middle of a barren prairie this time. There was nothing around him for as far as he could see—except for some dead shrubbery here and there, poking out of the cracked ground._

_The wind whistled around him, rustling through his hair and clothes, and he began to walk, staring straight ahead. A sharp pain erupted from his foot, and he looked down, realising he wasn't wearing any shoes. The cuffs of his pants were ripped, as though they had been torn off, and so were his sleeves._

_He stared at his hands, turning them around, touching his cold fingers to each cut and bruise. The wind started to howl, and he continued on his journey. He didn't know where he was going, but he knew there was somewhere he had to be._

_After several minutes—or maybe hours—of walking nowhere, across the monotonous landscape, he heard the faint hoot of a train. Eyes widening, he looked around, expecting to see the Hogwarts Express shoot across the barren land._

_Just as he had suspected, iron rails clicked together along the ground, running horizontally from his far left to his far right and disappearing into the horizon. There was another hoot and the pounding of a train's wheels. He waited, anticipation filling him with a dull throbbing, and as he watched, the train shot by him in all its grey glory._

_Grey…? Since when was the Hogwarts Express grey?_

_The train disappeared into the light fog that was settling over the prairie. He looked to his right and saw nothing but more empty, barren land. The tracks and the train were nowhere to be seen._

_He looked straight ahead and, to his shock, there was someone standing there, turned away from him. She was wearing a frock with lace around the edges, and a large, poufy hat atop her short, ginger locks. There was something vaguely familiar about the girl._

_Curious, he walked towards her, belatedly hearing the hooting of the train's whistle again. He reached her and placed his hand on her shoulder as the ground shuddered from the train that was swiftly approaching._

_Was the girl waiting for the train?_

_He saw the engine approach from the corner of his eyes, and just as the girl turned around, he was flung back and the train ran across the prairie. When it was gone, so was the girl, leaving him with nothing but a fleeting memory of her familiar face and the words she had whispered, carried away by the howling wind._

" _You know I love you, right? Even though sometimes it doesn't seem like it?"_

* * *

**[25 October 2011]**

**12:31 PM**

The first thing he did when he opened his eyes was groan, turning to his side and fumbling for the bottle of water he'd managed to Summon before he'd gotten pissed out of his mind. Splashing some water on to his face, he gulped the rest down, revelling at the clean, sweet taste that filled his mouth.

Rolling off the sofa—and sending a silent thank you to Hermione for suggesting that he get one—he checked the clock on his desk and swore.

"Half past twelve? You have  _got_ to be joking," he grumbled, barely having the energy to clean himself up with the freshening charm that was swiftly becoming a mandatory part of his everyday life.

He stared at the door for a long moment, setting his thoughts straight, before undoing the Muffling Charm. Scrunching his face up, he braced himself for the barrage to come but still winced when Lily's shrill screaming assaulted his sensitive ears.

"Bloody hell," he hissed, stuffing his fingers into his ears as he strode out and down the stairs.

"What in Merlin's name is going on?"he yelled as he stepped into the living room.

Lily fell silent, and several pairs of eyes—several more than there were supposed to be—stared at him. Ginny was by his side in an instant, a tall tumbler of strong-smelling liquid in her hand. He needed little prompting before chugging down the Pepperup Potion, instantly feeling its kick wake him up.

"Looks like you lot've had a rough start to your week, eh?" George said with a wide grin, coming up to him and pulling him into a rough hug.

Harry groaned as he patted George on the back and pulled away, nodding and adjusting his glasses. "Yeah, rough start."

"What in the world happened?" Angelina asked, looking up from where she was helping Albus with a puzzle. "We Floo in here nice and early from dropping the kids off at the Burrow to find the wife passed out on the sofa, the husband locked away in his study, and the kids running rampant in the house."

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that, didn't know we were expecting company," Harry said, placing his hands on his waist and giving Ginny a pointed look.

"Oh," Angelina said, sharing a look of apparent mutual understanding with his wife. "I called last night, actually, but I guess you guys were already out by then."

His stomach lurched at that, and he inhaled, leaning back against the wall as he tried to suppress a headache that began to throb through his temples. Ginny was telling Angelina she hadn't found a missed call on the phone's call log, and Angelina was saying maybe she had called the landline connection by accident. Harry still hadn't thought the previous night's events through, and right now, with his hangover, he wasn't about to.

"Right, guys, hey," he said, clapping his hands together and drawing everyone's attention to him. "Since you both are here, what say we go out and get some lunch?"

"Lunch date!" the kids shrieked and ran out, thundering up the stairs.

George shrugged and grinned. "Why not? It's not like we have anything planned or something. Right, Angie?"

"Sounds like a plan!" she said, putting away the puzzle and helping Ginny clear the living room.

"Alright, fantastic, I'll just go take a shower and then we can leave," Harry said and began to walk away when Angelina came up to him.

"Hey," she said, looking nervous as she wiped her palms on her pants.

"Hey," Harry replied, feeling a sudden sense of deja vu settle over him. "What's up?"

She opened her mouth, paused, and then said, "I was just wondering—did you answer Ginny's phone last night, by any chance?"

Feeling his heart begin to race, Harry took on a demeanour of confusion and shook his head. "Last night? No, I didn't. Ginny fell asleep on the sofa so I went up to get some work done. Why?"

She waved it off with a laugh. "No, it's nothing, I just thought someone answered the phone, but no one said anything, so I was just wondering…"

He cleared his throat and pushed his headache out of his mind for now. From the looks of it, he had bigger things to worry about. The way Angelina was acting was suspicious… or, rather, it was as though she was suspicious of something.  _Maybe Ginny really did lie to her and Angie knows it._

He shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant, and motioned to where Ginny and George were having an animated conversation by the kitchen isle. "Maybe she answered the phone herself and doesn't remember. She was pretty hammered last night."

Angelina gave him an odd look and he swallowed, making sure to keep his smile as natural as possible. If Ginny really  _had_ lied, Harry was sure—or at least hoped—that she had a good reason for it. There was no need for him to let Angelina know that she'd been lied to—especially since it seemed like it had something to do with him.

Angelina finally nodded and looked towards where her husband and sister-in-law were, a somewhat worried expression on her face.

"It's just…" she trailed off, and Harry bit back a sigh. These women and their apparent inability to get to the point.

"It's just what?" he prompted, and she turned back to look at him.

"It's just that Ginny took the phone out of her coat, this morning, when I asked her about it…"

"OK," he said, raising his eyebrows. "So what?"

"No, but, if she really  _did_ answer it, why would she go all the way to put it back—"

"Look, Angie," Harry interrupted. "Ginny had quite a bit to drink last night, and if she could climb up the stairs to my study, I'm sure she could go put her phone back in her coat or whatever. I don't know why you're so worried about this, but whatever it is, don't overthink it. I'm sure it's not all that big a deal."

She nodded and smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right, I'm just being paranoid for no reason, sorry."

Harry glanced towards where Ginny was laughing at something George was saying. He caught her eye, and when she smiled, he looked away, as though he was guilty of knowing something he shouldn't have known. He turned to Angelina and gave her a small smile.

"Don't worry about it. We've all been a little paranoid lately."


	3. 3 Lies: The Family Trip

**Chapter 3**

**The Family Trip**

* * *

**[26 October 2011]**

**8:08 AM**

"Have you got everything you need?"

"Yup."

"Did you pack your sweater? An extra pair of socks? Did you take the medicines I kept on the table?"

"Yes, yes, and yes. I'll only be a few hours away, Harry, I won't even need half these things," Ginny said, wrapping her hands around his neck and kissing him.

"Doesn't mean I shouldn't worry," Harry grumbled as he let her straighten his collar.

She smiled up at him and touched his nose with her finger. " _I'm_ the one who's supposed to be saying that. Are you sure you want to take the kids on a trip all on your own?"

"I'll be fine," he assured her as Ron's car pulled up in front of their house. "Besides, Hermione'll be coming along too."

"Yeah, I'm really glad that she was able to get the same week off as you. I'm so much more relaxed now that I know she'll be with you," Ginny said as she turned and waved at Hermione.

"Well, Ron only managed to get five tickets to the carnival and both Arthur and Molly wanted to go, so Hermione decided it'd do everyone a lot of good if she tagged along with the kids and me."

"And she was right."

"I was right about what?" Hermione asked as she approached, giving them each quick hugs.

"How do you know we were even talking about  _you?"_ he asked, causing her to raise her eyebrows at him.

Ginny laughed as her phone rang and she fumbled around with her bags as she looked for it. The second she saw who the caller was, though, the smile dropped off her face and she paled.

"Ginny?" Harry questioned, but she held up a finger as she answered the call, moving away as Ron came up to them.

Ron pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "What's that all about?"

"'Dunno," Harry said moodily as Hermione whipped around, her mouth falling open.

" _Ron!_  You  _cannot_ park on the road like that! Look at the mess you've caused!" she cried, waving her hand at the line of cars that were slowly coming to stop behind Ron's car—which was parked almost completely in the middle of the road—honking loudly.

"Oh, give me that." She snatched the keys from his hand and ran to the car.

They watched in amusement as Hermione apologised to the other drivers, got in the car, and struggled to turn it into the gate because of how Ron had parked it. When she finally succeeded and stepped out, red in the face and wild-haired, she stomped up to them with a furious expression.

"Hey, the road's pretty narrow," Ron said as his wife pointed an accusing finger at him.

"Ugh, Ron, you are  _terrible!"_ Hermione said crossly, smacking him in the chest.

"Feisty this morning, aren't we?" Ron laughed, rubbing his chest.

Harry tuned them out as Hermione started to yell at Ron, his focus returning to Ginny—who had now wandered to the gate, still on the phone, having what seemed like a furious exchange with the caller. He was dying to know whom she was speaking with, to the extent of wondering whether he still had any Extendible Ears left, but just then, Angelina drove up and honked, and Ginny got off the phone.

"All set?" Angelina called, and Ginny nodded as Ron stopped quarrelling with Hermione long enough to help Harry carry his sister's bags to the car. "Put them in the backseat, boys, the boot's full."

"Yes, ma'am," Ron said as he shoved the bags in, piling them one on top of the other.

"Where are the others?" Harry asked as he held the door open for Ginny.

"Oh, we'll pick them up on the way," Angelina said offhandedly as she waved at them and revved the engine. "Well, see you in a week!"

"Have fun!" Hermione and Ron said, waving.

"Take care of yourself," Harry said to Ginny, and she smiled up at him. Except… it felt like they were saying goodbye—for good.

Swallowing, and mentally slapping himself for being so paranoid, he watched them drive away, a sense of foreboding settling in the pit of his stomach.

"Well, that just leaves you lot. Are the kids good to go?" Ron asked, hefting up his pants, much like his father did.

Harry continued to stare after the car till Hermione touched his arm and called his name.

"Harry?"

"Mate, you alright?"

He nodded and walked towards the house, running a hand through his short hair. It was so much easier to handle with it short, and he always wondered why he never bothered doing it before.

"Jamie! Al! Lily! Are you ready?" he called up the stairs.

There was a short silence followed by hurried shouts and excited shrieks, and lots of thudding and clattering. Sighing, he trudged up the stairs and walked into Albus' room.

All three kids looked up, pausing in their attempt to throw the things lying around back into their rucksacks. He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming along already.

"I thought we decided to  _not_ unpack until we left the house?" he asked tiredly, and James slammed down the lid of the single suitcase in the room, catching Albus' hand in between and causing the younger boy to scream.

"Alright," Harry said, placing the suitcase on the bed and patting Albus' head. "How 'bout we have a race?"

The kids stared up at him wide-eyed, Albus forgetting about his hand in his curiosity, and Harry couldn't help but smile.  _I told you I could handle my own kids,_ he said to the Ginny in his head, scoffing when mental-Ginny rolled her eyes and shrugged.

"You have exactly five minutes to put all your things back, get your bags, and get into Uncle Ron's car." He checked his watch as three heads nodded vigorously, and gave them an approving smile. "OK, ready… set… go!"

Hermione came into the room just then and had to jump aside as the kids ran around, collecting all their toys and whatnot, stuffed it all into their rucksacks, and raced out the door.

"Careful down the stairs!" Harry called after them as he began picking up the clothes strewn around the room.

"Do you really want to do this? I mean, I'm not complaining or anything, obviously not, it's just—" Hermione began.

"It's just  _what,_ Hermione?" Harry snapped, glaring at her.

He was already stressed out about the whole phone call from Angelina, and the phone call Ginny had just gotten, and the way he felt like their relationship was falling apart—not to mention that he now had to deal with his three kids on his own and had his nightmares and insomnia as an added bonus. He loved Hermione, and she was a fantastic mother, but she wasn't Ginny. It wasn't a family trip without Ginny.

She gave him a sort of sad smile and shook her head. "No, you're right, my bad."

He sighed, too irritated to fold all the clothes, and magicked them into the suitcase. Picking it up, he walked past Hermione and strode down the stairs, swallowing thickly and willing himself to calm down. The day had barely begun, and he was already letting his insomnia get the better of him.

Placing the suitcase in the boot, Harry slammed it shut and turned around to face Hermione—who now had a worried frown on her face.

"Is everything alright? You're acting… odd."

"Yeah, everything's  _fine,_ Hermione, and it'll be even better if you could just stopmothering me."

"Harry," she said softly, touching his arm. He looked away and ran a hand down his face, feeling another migraine settle around his temples. "I'm sorry."

He looked at Hermione and gave her a small smile. "No, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled at you. It's just—I  _really_ wanted this to work, you know? I've been feeling like Ginny and I… we're just drifting apart and I don't know  _why._ I thought it was because of work and because I don't pay enough attention to them—"

"Oh, that's not true at all, Harry—"

"—and that's why I really wanted— _needed—_ this trip to happen." He shook his head. "I miss her, Hermione. And it's like I can't even reach her anymore."

Hermione shook her head, her eyes looking suspiciously moist. She pulled him into a hug and patted his back. He let her hug him because he somehow it felt like she needed it more than he did. When they pulled away, she gave him a watery smile and with a "Come on," walked to where Ron was.

As they came up to the front, a bit of an argument started between Hermione and Ron, with her insisting that she drive again and him questioning the exact necessity of him being there.

"I don't want there to be an accident, Ron! There are children in the car!"

"I'm perfectly capable of driving a stupid Muggle vehicle, Hermione!"

"You don't even have a licence! What if we get caught?"

"We won't!"

"Alright, I'm driving," Harry sighed, pushing past the squabbling duo and falling into the driver's seat. The two took one look at him and began arguing again. He bit back another sigh as James leaned forwards and poked him in the shoulder.

"Are we leaving yet?"

"Yes, we are. Hermione!" he yelled. Hermione stepped into the car and slammed the door shut with a huff. Harry stared at her, and she bristled but rolled down the window anyway and had a hushed conversation with her husband.

"Are we good to go?" he asked when Ron moved away with a grumble.

"Yes, we are, Ron's just sulking that  _you're_  driving  _his_ car."

He scoffed at that. "Yeah, well, considering it's him,  _everyone_ would drive his car before he did."

Hermione laughed, and, as Harry pulled the car out the gate, said, "Kids, say thanks to your Uncle Ron for lending us his car."

The kids promptly stuck their heads out and waved at Ron, thanking him. Ron beamed and stuck his chest out, looking important as he waved back.

"Lock the gate behind you!" Harry called, and Ron gave him a thumbs up, causing both him and Hermione to roll their eyes.

"Alright, you lot, off we go!" Harry said with a grin, the kids' infectious excitement temporarily causing him to forget his concerns.

"Yay!" came the rejoicing yells, and he laughed as he revved the engine, and they took off.

* * *

**[27 October 2011]**

**3:28 PM**

Harry groaned as James threw a pail of sand onto Albus and Lily, causing the two to scream and start chucking sand at each other.

"Jamie, Al—"

"Oh, leave them be, Harry," Hermione admonished for the dozenth time that day. She walked up to where they were lounging under large beach umbrellas and handed him a paper cup full of a blue beverage. "Let the children be children."

"What the hell is this?" Harry asked, peering into the cup.

She shrugged. "I saw it on the menu and pointed at it." He stared at her, and she glanced sideways at him. "What?"

"You got it without even knowing what it was?" Harry asked incredulously as Hermione took a large gulp.

"Oh, it's good! Tangy!" she exclaimed, licking her lips.

"Who are you and what have you done with Hermione?" Harry laughed as she gave him a wide, triumphant grin.

"I stowed her up in a corner of my brain and told her to stay there while  _I_ had some well-deserved fun." She placed a pair of dark sunglasses on her nose. "Now, will you drink that and enjoy yourself or keep moping around for the rest of the trip?"

"I'm not moping." He took a tentative sip of his drink and hummed in appreciation. "Mm, this is actually really good!"

"Told you so."

Harry sat back and closed his eyes, breathing in and letting the lingering scent of the salty air and the sound of the ocean calm him.

His original plan had been to go camping, but Ginny had instantly opposed the idea with a very valid argument—the kids would  _not_ enjoy spending an entire week in some isolated place with insects and mosquitos and no "fun food" as they called it.

So they had decided to come to Brighton and spend the week at a beachside hotel. When Ginny told the kids, they'd gotten so excited that Albus had woken them up in the middle of the night to ask them how many more days he had to wait to build sand castles.

The memory brought a smile to his face, but it also brought with it the thought that he was there, with the kids, but Ginny, whose idea it had been to come to the beach in the first place, was nowhere to be seen. He controlled his urge to sigh as he quickly dispelled the depressing thoughts that followed. They were there to have fun, with or without Ginny, and that was what he was going to do even if he had to force himself to do it.

"They seem like they're enjoying themselves."

Harry opened his eyes and watched as James held Albus and Lily's hands as they splashed around in the water, the older boy instructing the younger two to not get water in their eyes. He sighed contentedly and watched as Lily and Albus ran up to Hermione, demanding their floaties.

"Don't go too deep, OK?" Hermione handed them the blown up floaties, and they ran back to James, yelling excitedly.

"So how come Ron only got five tickets?" Harry asked since he'd been wondering about that for a while.

"Oh, he didn't. He got six."

He stared at her, and she looked up and gave him a confused smile. "What?"

Harry's heart started to race as he sat up and turned towards her. "But I thought you didn't go because you didn't have enough tickets?"

Hermione frowned. "No," she said slowly, pulling a book out of her bag. "Who told you that?"

He opened his mouth and then shut it as a particular conversation regarding why Hermione was accompanying him and the kids flashed through his mind.

_Ginny._

"I just assumed… since you're here," Harry said awkwardly when she continued to look at him. "You didn't have to come, you know; I'd have been fine on my own."

"Don't be silly, Harry, of course I wanted to come. There's no way I would refuse when Ginny asked me, now, would I?"

Catching his breath, Harry stared unseeingly at the cover of her book and said, "Ginny asked you to go with me?"

"Yeah."

"When?"

"When? I don't know, maybe a week ago?"

 _A week ago? She hadn't even told me she wasn't going, then!_ he thought.

"Why?"

Hermione turned to him and pulled off her sunglasses, her brown eyes swimming with worry. "Harry, is there something I should know?"

He almost told her for a second there, about everything, but something stopped him and he shook his head, forcing a smile onto his face. "No, there isn't. I'm just being my usual paranoid self. Anyway, I'm going to go make sure the kids haven't caught a starfish and made it their pet or something…"

She caught his arm before he could walk away and gave him a searching look. "How are the nightmares?"

"Oh, they're doing just fine. Rather peachy, to be honest."

"Harry…"

"Hermione, everything is absolutely wonderful, and besides, weren't you the one that said we shouldn't think about depressing things and have fun?"

She finally let go, nodding but looking unconvinced. "Yeah, you're right. Now go have some fun."

"I will." He smiled at her and jogged towards where the kids were, allowing his minds to sort through yet another fragment of information that added on to the list of unanswered questions he already had.

Why had Ginny asked Hermione to go with him and the kids even before she had said anything to him about not going?

It didn't make sense. He had known that there was something she was worrying about and that she didn't seem too excited about the trip, rather suddenly, too, since she was the one who'd chosen the place and the hotel and everything, but it didn't make sense.

Why had she hidden the fact that she wasn't going to go from him? Alright, sure, he had gotten upset when she had told him, but he had known that she didn't want to go anyway—and that's what didn't make sense to him.  _Why_ would someone who seemed to think something was an excellent idea suddenly back out? And why would she go through the extra measure of asking Hermione to  _not_ go with her family in order to come with him?

He could take care of the kids by himself just fine. There had been absolutely no reason for Ginny to go out of her way to ask Hermione to cancel on a trip with  _her_ family just to babysit  _theirs._

And, this was what was bothering him the most—why had she  _lied_ to him about the tickets? It was such a stupid thing to do and seemed rather pointless. Had she not wanted him to feel guilty that Hermione was giving up on quality time with her family in order to replace Ginny?

_It doesn't even matter because now I know anyway and I feel even worse._

He didn't understand why Hermione had just so readily upped and decided to go with him either. She had  _never_ done that before, not even during the times Ginny had been away on her reporting gigs when the kids were younger. She'd come and help, but never substitute for Ginny.

He sighed. There was something going on that he didn't know about and he had a feeling that both Angelina  _and_ Hermione were in on it. He massaged his temples, cursing his sleeplessness and his nightmares for turning him into a paranoid wreck.

Lily ran up to him just then, breaking his train of thought, and showed him a shell she'd found. He smiled as he told her it was pretty, making a mental note to ask Ginny what the hell she was up to once and for all as soon as they were home.

He'd rather be hurt by the truth than suffer in silence from all the lies.

* * *

**[28 October 2011]**

**8:47 AM**

Yawning, Harry walked out on to the balcony to find Hermione already there, a book in hand and a focused expression on her face.

"What's the point of going away from home if you're going to do the same things you always do?" he asked as he sat down across from her and picked up a cup of coffee.

"The point is that I'm doing the same things I always do in a place that's not home," Hermione answered, barely pausing in her reading.

"Makes no sense to me," Harry said, pointing his wand at the cup and murmuring a warming spell. "Where're the kids?"

Hermione stretched her arm out and pointed below the balcony, her eyes moving back and forth as she continued to read. Harry leant over and spotted the trio in a small space between the bushes, building what looked like a small kingdom, moats and all.

He watched Albus make a flag with leaves and hand it over to Lily, who promptly broke it. "Did they eat their breakfast yet?" Harry asked.

"They did, or at least I think they did—I had to Scour the balcony because it looked like a war had happened here."

"I don't know if I should laugh at that or not," he said with a grin, and she finally looked up from her book.

"Oh, Harry, I didn't mean—"

"I was  _joking,_ Hermione. Besides, I haven't been getting nightmares since I got here—which is honestly surprising because I never got to catch a break at home."

"See, aren't you glad you didn't cancel this trip?"

Harry shrugged, sipping his coffee. "I was never really going to cancel it because I'd booked the rooms and everything." A sudden thought occurred to him and he asked, "Wait is  _that_ why you're here? Because I'd booked a room for five?"

She glanced up and gave him a weird look that oddly made him feel like she was trying not to tell him something. "Yes."

"Oh."

"Were you expecting me to say something else?"

"Honestly? Yeah."

She sighed and put her book down, and he rose to his feet, gulping down the burning coffee and setting the cup on the table. "Well, I best go and check in on the kids."

"Harry!"

He walked away, but not fast enough, because he heard her say, "Running away isn't going to solve anything!"

Sighing, he made his way to where the kids were, trying to argue with himself that he wasn't running away. He'd just panicked. Hermione's expression had been serious, and he'd reacted before he'd even thought about it—and he was regretting it already. This may have been his only chance to find out some part of the truth and he just  _had_ to be an idiot and jump the gun—as always.

"Good morning!" he said brightly as he approached the bushes where the kids were. "Looks like we're up bright and early and building a kingdom."

"It's Lilalbames Land!" Lily announced, waving a twig.

"That sounds great. What does it mean?" Harry asked, squatting down and inspecting this grand kingdom of theirs.

"Lily—Albus—James!" Lily said, pointing to herself, Albus and James.

"Wow! Sounds difficult—who came up with it?"

"I did!" Lily instantly said, and Albus smacked her on the bottom.

"No, I did!"

"We  _all_ did," James said, deciding to be the diplomatic older brother for once.

"You guys are pretty organised for a bunch of troublemakers who played around with their breakfast," Harry said, looking from one guilty face to the other.

"James started it!" Albus declared, and Lily nodded vigorously.

"I did not!  _Lily_ started it!"

"Don't blame Lily!" Albus said.

"Yeah, don't blame Lily!" Lily joined in, sticking her tongue out at James, who reached out and grabbed her tongue with his muddy hand, causing her to splutter and spit all over the place.

"Daddy!"

"Alright, alright, let's not get too excited. How about you tell me who all live in this kingdom of yours," Harry said, picking up a leaf-flag and sticking it on one of the mounds.

"Well, all of us live in the castle, of course," James began, motioning to what was apparently the castle, with a flourish. "And Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione and Rosie and Hugo live here," he continued, pointing to a smaller mound. "And Gran'pa and Gram'ma live here," he pointed to a third mound, "and everyone else lives all over here," he finished, motioning to all the different-sized mounds.

"So we live in the castle?" Harry asked, and the trio nodded.

"Yeah, you and me and Lily and Al and—"

"Mummy!" Lily cried happily, cutting James off.

"That's great," Harry said, but Lily stood up and started bouncing on the spot.

"Mummy!"

"Lily, I know you miss Mummy but—"

"Surprise!"

Harry jerked backwards and had to throw his arm out to steady himself as the kids exclaimed happily and threw themselves at Ginny.

"Hi sweethearts!" she laughed, kissing them on their heads. "Here, I've brought you all something."

She held out three large shells. James immediately grabbed a red, jagged, spiralled one and went, "This one's mine!"

"And this one's yours," Ginny said as she gave a glossy pink spiral shell to Lily—who took it and held it up against the light, squinting through it. "And this one's Al's," Ginny finished, handing a smaller, deep green conch shell to Albus.

Albus had a crestfallen expression on his face, and Ginny instantly held the shell up and said, "Look, it's the same colour as your eyes!"

"I want one like that!" James said, and Albus perked up.

"Well you can't have this one, it's  _mine,"_ he declared, cradling the shell to his chest.

"Alright boys, no fighting," Ginny said as she walked around them to where Harry was standing.

"Hi," she said, a tentative smon one her face.

"Hey," he replied, raising his eyebrows at her.

"You seem surprised."

"I am! Didn't expect you to show up," Harry said, still stunned by the sudden turn of events.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, and when she pulled back, her eyes looked somewhat moist.

"I love you," she whispered. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him, momentarily forgetting that he was supposed to be mad at her.

"I know," he said softly as she ran her hands through his hair. "But no more surprises for a while, OK?"

"OK."

He smiled as he kissed her softly, ignoring the retching and gagging sounds James and Albus were making.

"Oh, you made it!"

They pulled apart as Hermione walked towards them, a huge grin on her face. "I almost thought you wouldn't show!"

"I would never put you through that," Ginny said as they hugged.

"Oh, good, because Ron's already called me seven times and left me ten messages and if I don't leave now, I'm going to be facing more than just creepy clowns."

"Thanks again," Ginny said as Hermione waved a pouch.

"For you, anytime," she replied as she opened the pouch. "Well, I managed to connect the fireplace in the office to the Burrow, so I'll be off, then."

She hugged Harry, and he held her for a moment longer, raising his brows and giving her a questioning look. Hermione glanced towards Ginny and the kids and then gave him a look that said, "I'll explain later." He nodded and let her go, stepping back as she hugged the kids quickly and bustled away, looking immensely relieved.

Harry turned to see Ginny and the kids dancing around in a circle and watched them for a long moment, his mind whirring, but when Lily called to him, he grinned and joined in. So had he really just been paranoid about the whole thing? Had this surprise been what Ginny and Hermione had been hiding from him all along? There were still things Ginny had to explain, like why she'd lied about the tickets or why she hadn't just come clean to Harry about everything, but that was a matter for later, he decided, because he'd finally gotten what he'd wanted—all of his family together. Maybe this trip wasn't a complete waste after all.

* * *

**[30 October 2011]**

**10: 39 PM**

"They're sleeping so soundly," Ginny said with a smile as she eyed the three kids sprawled across the backseat.

"Yeah, they must've been exhausted with all the frolicking they did."

"They seem to have had fun."

"We all did."

She kissed him on the cheek, and he smiled at her before turning back to the road. "I'm glad you could make it."

"Not gladder than I am," she said with a sigh, and he sensed that something was wrong.

"Did the party not go well?" Harry asked. 

She shook her head. "No, the party went fine, it's just—I don't know, I guess I should've just come clean about what I planned on doing from the beginning."

Harry had a feeling she wasn't really talking about the surprise, but he didn't push it. After a time, though, he asked, "Why were you so nervous about the whole thing?"

"Oh, come on, Harry, you know why! You were looking forward to this trip so much and I just didn't have the heart to tell you!"

"But you told Hermione."

"Because I needed her to make sure that you would go on this trip and that you wouldn't sit around and wallow in self-pity or whatever all day long."

"Is that why you lied about the tickets?"

When Sinny didn't answer right away, he glanced towards her and saw that she had a pained expression on her face. He felt his chest clench, but he was determined to know the answer and suppressed his guilt.

"I didn't  _lie—"_

"You told me Ron had five tickets when he had six."

"No," Ginny said, pulling her feet up on the seat. "I told you he was  _using_ five tickets. You just assumed he only had five."

"And you decided to just let me keep assuming that?"

"Harry," she sighed, giving him a pleading look. "Can we just forget about that? Didn't we have fun these past three days?"

"Yeah, we did," Harry admitted, although he didn't really feel like letting it go. He still didn't know why exactly she'd lied about it. "But I want to make sure that there isn't something you're keeping from me, Ginny."

She seemed startled by that, for some reason, but composed herself before he could question it. She opened her mouth, made to say something, and then shut it, looking conflicted.

"Is there? Something that you aren't telling me?" he asked again.

She sighed, long and deep, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Looking away from him, she said, "George and the kids had planned this whole thing for Angie, so he wanted me to convince her to go on a trip for her birthday so they could surprise her."

 _That answers the question of Angelina's phone call and why Ginny'd lied to her. But that doesn't tell me why she lied to_ me.

"So why didn't you tell me?" Harry asked, and she rolled her eyes at him.

"Because you're the absolute  _worst_ when it comes to surprises, why do you think?"

He pursed his lips at that, but couldn't disagree. This wasn't the first time that he'd been left out of a surprise, after all, and he was sure Ron hadn't a clue about it either.

"I never meant to stay for a whole week, anyway," Ginny began before he could say anything. "I was only going to go with her until George and the kids arrived for the surprise and leave the day after. But I thought it'd be fun to surprise you and the kids too, so I thought why not, and asked Hermione to help."

"So Hermione knew about Angie's surprise?"

Ginny shook her head. "No, she just knew about me coming back early, so she only agreed since I promised her she wouldn't have to miss out on going to the carnival. Ron was a right git about the whole thing, though."

"Because you didn't tell him, I'm sure," Harry said in Ron's defence, but Ginny shot him a look. "Right, well, why'd you lie about the tickets?"

She groaned and buried her head in her knees. "Harry, please don't let's ruin this by talking about a stupid mistake that I made. OK?"

He stared ahead, biting his tongue, but she'd explained to him what had actually happened, so he decided that he could let it go—for now. She ran her hand through his hair and he nodded. "OK."

"I love all of you, Harry, you know that."

"Yeah. Me too."

But there was still that nagging feeling at the back of his mind that just wouldn't go away no matter what he did.


	4. 4 Lies: Memories of the War

Warning: Certain content in this chapter may be triggering to certain individuals. Read at your own discretion.

* * *

 

**Chapter 4**

**Memories of The War**

* * *

 

**[31 October 2011]**

_It was raining._

_He was standing under a bare tree, its charred branches bowing from the force of the downpour. Wisps of hot breath escaped his gritted teeth as he stood shivering, soaked to the bone. His knees creaked every time he tried to move, and his arms were plastered around himself as he tried to preserve whatever warmth was left in his body._

_The rain fell in sheets, razor-sharp needles falling from heaven and piercing the earth. He could barely see for a few feet around him, his rain-splattered glasses further reducing visibility, and he ached to find shelter and warmth, but something was keeping him there. He didn't know what, but it was as though some powerful force was bearing down on him._

_He didn't know for how long he stood under the dead tree, but it didn't matter because the rain had already frozen him from the inside out. His senses were numb from the frigid temperature and the relentless downpour, ruthlessly eating away at whatever little willpower he had left._

_Wishing to escape the merciless torture, he peeled his arms away from around himself. He trembled uncontrollably as he patted himself down, looking for his wand, or a matchbox, or something that would allow him respite from the ceaseless rain._

_All he found was a shard of a mirror, and he stared at it, the reflection of his emerald eye looking lifeless and grey. He wondered if he could use it to escape his unending agony. Holding his arm out, he slowly drew the edge across his forearm, watching as beads of crimson appeared on his pale skin, only to be dashed away by the rain._

_He watched as every time his blood managed to seep out of the cut, it was wiped clean by freezing droplets. Soon, the gash had sealed itself shut, and, as he watched, veins of black twisted outward from the closed wound. He would have been startled, or at least unnerved_ , _if he weren't so numb._

_The veins began to form a recognisable pattern, and once they stopped moving under his skin, he was able to identify the mark engraved into his arm._

_It was the Dark Mark. The mark of Voldemort's loyal supporters. The mark of the Death Eaters._

_The next thing he knew, the sound of the rain had been replaced by incessant screaming._

* * *

 

**2:34 AM**

"—arry! Harry! Wake up!"

He gasped and turned over, falling off the bed and lying sprawled on the floor. He shuddered, eyes tearing up as his heart beat rapidly in his chest. There was scrambling, and Ginny's arms were around him, helping him up.

"Harry, Harry!" She was saying his name, but he could barely hear her over the ringing in his ears.

"Ginny," he choked, and she gasped as she hugged him, whimpering softly into his shoulder.

He held her, staring straight ahead, alarmed and confused. The remnants of his nightmare were slowly leaving his exhausted mind, but he could still feel an itching on his arm where he had dreamt the Dark Mark had been. He wanted to check his arm to make sure it wasn't still there and slowly pushed Ginny off of him.

She helped him to his feet and got on to the bed. Looking up at him with worried eyes, she asked, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

Her gaze fell on his arm, and she swallowed. "You were groaning and sighing, and I wondered what was wrong when I found that you'd nearly scratched the skin off your arm."

He raised his forearm and looked at it, and just as Ginny had said, his skin was raw and bleeding, confirming the itch he had felt before.

"Was it another nightmare?" she asked softly as he continued to stare at the wound.

"No, I think I got bitten by something at the beach," he deadpanned. "It's been bothering me for a while now but I assumed it was sunburn. I should probably go see a Healer first thing in the morning."

"Harry…" He looked up at her, and she shook her head. "You can tell me, you know, if they're back—"

"They're not," he snapped and bit back a sigh when she flinched.

"OK, but I'm just saying—"

"Gin, it's late. Can we have this conversation some other time? I'm really exhausted and I have an early day at work."

She nodded after a long moment and got under the covers. He forced a smile onto his face as he kissed her forehead and turned away, staring at his arm. It itched, and he wanted to pick at it, but he knew that would only make things worse, so he continued to stare at it till the first rays of sunrise spilt through the gap in the drapes.

* * *

 

**7:19 AM**

Ginny had apparently decided that after the previous night's events, she was going to have to be overly bright and happy in order to make up for his sullenness and irritability. He appreciated the effort, really, but if she made one more remark on what a beautiful day it was, he was going to lose it.

"Daddy, bow me?" Lily came up to him and turned around, holding out the satin ties of her dress. He tied them together in a neat, big bow and kissed her hair when she hugged him.

He had just turned back to his large mug of coffee when James and Albus burst into the room, covered in dirt.

"Boys!" Ginny scolded, hurrying towards them and pushing them back out the way they had come in. "What have I said about cleaning up before coming into the living room?"

"But Mum, we need to show this to Dad!" James said, leaning around Ginny and beckoning to Lily.

"Absolutely not. You're going to get into the bath and then we can talk about why you're covered in mud first thing in the morning."

Just before Ginny ushered them away, James managed to toss a small bundle, and Lily caught it deftly, making Harry raise his eyebrows. _I see she's got her mum's Chaser skills_ , Harry thought as she ran towards him, holding out whatever it was that James had been desperate to show him.

"What's that?" he asked as he bit into a muffin.

"'Dunno," Lily said innocently, and he Levitated the bundle onto the table, unwilling to get dirt on his hands.

Lily placed her hands on the edge of the table and got on her tiptoes, eyeing the bundle curiously. "What is it?" she asked, fidgeting when he didn't seem like he would open it anytime soon.

"'Dunno," he said in imitation of her, and Lily stuck her lip out and frowned up at him. Hiding a smile, Harry reached over and ruffled her hair, causing her to shriek and slap his hand away.

"Mummy!" she screamed, running out of the room. "Daddy ruined my hair! Fix it!"

Chuckling to himself, he finished his muffin and downed the last of the coffee. He could hear Lily shrieking as she ran up the stairs, and Ginny's voice as she tried to placate the little girl. He reached forward, gingerly opening up the tattered piece of cloth the object was wrapped in. Curious, he peered at what looked like old photographs, now faded and worn.

He stared at the picture on the top of the pile idly, wondering where he had seen it before. Flipping it over, he read the familiar, narrow scrawl, his mind taking a moment to catch up with what he was seeing.

_Neville Longbottom, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood and Ginny Weasley—the war has ended and we are alive._

He sat up suddenly, his eyes narrowing as he picked the picture up. Flipping it over, he eyed the solemn faces of six exhausted and wounded teenagers as they stood on a destroyed bridge with Hogwarts at their backs. He ran a hand down his face and through his hair, his skin breaking out in gooseflesh.

"What the bloody hell…"

Ginny walked in just then and broke into a smile as she made her way over to him. He plucked the bundle off the table, cloth and all, intending to hide it, but he hadn't noticed the small pouch that had been part of the bundle and watched as Ginny picked it up and eyed it curiously.

"What's this?"

"The boys found it in the garden; I'm not sure what it is, yet," Harry said quickly, making to grab the pouch from her hand.

But she was too quick for him and dodged out of reach, holding the pouch at arm's length. "Well, let's find out, then."

"No, Ginny—" he started, but she had already untied the pouch and held it upside down, watching as several objects fell out of the small cloth bag.

They stared at the objects, Harry's heart in his mouth, and Ginny let out a soft gasp. "Harry… is this…"

He placed the pictures down beside the trinkets from the war and Ginny stared at them wide-eyed.

"Why in heavens were these buried in our garden?" she asked breathlessly, her hand hovering over the pictures as though she was too afraid to touch them.

Harry reached over and pulled her close as the memory of him burying a bundle that looked almost exactly like the one before them flashed through his mind. "I probably buried it when we first bought the house or something," he said, his voice quiet.

She gave him a weird look and asked, "Why the hell did you bury it?"

He sighed in frustration and shrugged. "I probably didn't want to burn them or something so I must've buried it with the intention of finding them some day when I was ready." He couldn't be held responsible for the actions of his stupid past self—or so he would have liked to believe.

"Oh, Harry," Ginny said, her eyes full of pity, and he instantly felt a fire light up in the pit of his stomach.

This was probably the reason why he'd buried it. Because he hadn't wanted someone else to find these pictures and other mementoes from the war and look at him with those eyes full of pity. Harry loathed the idea of people thinking he was pitiful and needed help. He always had and always would. _And Hermione still wonders why the hell I haven't told Ginny that my nightmares are back,_ he thought, bitter.

"I think I'm going to take these to my study," he said crisply, gathering everything up and striding out of the room before Ginny could stop him. Not that she would've; he was sure after that look of pity, she thought he needed time to recuperate from the shock or whatever.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he all but ran to his study, nearly slamming the door behind him in his hurry to examine the bundle. He made sure to lock the door and clear his desk before gingerly placing the objects down on it. Unfolding the dirty cloth, he spread all its contents out so he could examine each.

He arranged the pictures in a neat pile and the objects from the pouch in three rows. Making sure not to touch any of them, his heart thrumming with anticipation, he took a moment to close his eyes and take a deep breath before he started.

Once he was reasonably sure that he wouldn't be shocked sick by what he found on further inspection, he slowly picked up the picture below the one he'd already seen.

It was a photo of him and Hagrid, their arms around each other—or rather, him trying to not be crushed under Hagrid's weight—the half-giant bawling his eyes out. He turned the picture around and read the message Hargrid had written in his narrow handwriting.

_Harry—the Boy Who Lived again and again. The little lad I watched grow into a fine young man with_ me _own eyes. Never thought I'd get to see you again, after that—but here you are and here I am, and no matter what, Harry, here is where I'm always gonna be._

He swallowed thickly, his eyes burning. Harry remembered what these pictures were. He remembered how he'd found Colin's body with the rest of the dead and how his little brother Dennis had begged Harry to take Colin's Polaroid. He'd relented when the boy had said Harry had always been his big brother's idol and he would've wanted Harry to have his camera.

Deciding that he was going to do Colin justice, he'd taken it upon himself to go around taking pictures with as many people as he could, in an attempt to lighten the heavy air of doom that had fallen over Hogwarts just after the war had ended. He'd gotten everyone to sign the pictures, to leave a message on the back of them. At the time, it had just been a spur of the moment thing, something he had done out of desperation, and everyone had just gone along with it.

But now… although everyone was attempting to smile in the pictures, it physically pained him to see how hard they were trying to get over what had just happened. It had been painful, the war, more so for those who hadn't fought in it but had lost loved ones and the survivors because of how many casualties the wizarding world had sustained from it. It was painful.

Harry sniffed as he put the picture down and picked up the next one. This one was of him with his arms around George and Percy's shoulders—and they looked devastated. Percy was at least attempting to smile, although he looked extremely uncomfortable, but George was just staring off to the side, like he didn't even realise someone was taking a picture of him.

Placing the photo on the table, Harry stared at it unseeingly, barely noticing the tears falling down his face. He was too afraid to flip it over. He was too afraid to see what message was written on the back.

_You chose not to burn them, Harry, so man up and do what you set out to do._

Inhaling deeply, he braced himself, and before he could wimp out again, he turned the picture over. Harry read the lines very fast, and then, realising he hadn't registered what it said, reread them. Percy's message was very formal, to the point, and short.

_Harry, good luck. Thank you._

He remembered feeling confused about why exactly Percy was thanking him, and reading this so many years later, he felt the same way. If anything, Percy should've blamed him for what had happened, not thanked him. Rubbing his eyes, he slowly moved down to George's message. He remembered asking George to write it and then almost forcing him to write something when he refused to. He wanted to hit himself for that, now.

George's message was longer, but was more of a punch in the stomach than he had wanted. It read:

_I finally know what it feels like, to lose someone you thought would always be by your side. You've been so brave, Harry, and I don't think anyone's ever thanked you for that. Well, I don't think I'm the one that's going to do it, but Fred probably would've. Too bad he's not here, eh?_

Harry groaned, wiping away the tears as he held his head in his hands, wishing, for the millionth time, that he could just _Obliviate_ himself.

It took him a long time to be able to move on to the next picture. He steeled himself as he picked it up. It was a picture of him and a group of students from various Houses. They were all laughing as they picked him up and threw him into the air. Behind the photo were signatures from all the students with good luck wishes and the like.

The next few pictures were more of the same—him with different groups of people: some students, some from the Order, some professors, some Aurors, some younger students. There was one picture of him and McGonagall, and he couldn't help but smile at the triumphant look on her face as she laughed and patted him on the back.

He flipped it around, eager to read the message, and he felt a sense of pride as he read it.

_I have known you since you were but a babe; I have watched you grow, and I have never been prouder to know such a brilliant, brave and kind young man. Your courage has moved thousands of hearts since even before you've known, and it has continued to move thousands more every single day. May you continue to move hearts, may you continue to be brave, and may you continue to make me proud._

_With immense love and blessings,_

_Minerva McGonagall._

_P.S. I pray that, for once in your bloody life, Potter, you stay out of trouble. But not for too long; I daresay that would do the world more harm than good._

Harry laughed as he read the postscript, deciding to ignore his tears because they didn't seem to want to go away anytime soon.

Placing the photograph back with a small smile, he picked the next one up.

* * *

 

**9:23 AM**

By the time he had gotten through the entire pile, he had cried enough to make up for the past decade, and he was exhausted. He eyed the last picture that was left, sighing as he picked it up. His eyes widened as he saw it, though, and his heart thudded in his chest.

It was a picture of him with Draco and Narcissa Malfoy.

Harry frowned, trying to remember when this picture was taken. By the time the camera had run out of magical paper, he had frankly been overjoyed that he could stop, much too exhausted to bother with anything else, but he still remembered every single photo he had taken—except this one, apparently.

Humming in thought, he stared at the picture, cringing at how rigid both Malfoys were, his own smile looking painfully fake in contrast to their expressionless faces. He flipped the picture over, curious to see what was written, and was disappointed that there was no message. He was just about to put it back in the pile when something caught his eye.

At the very bottom, almost swallowed up by the frayed edges, was a single, incomplete sentence in slanted, elegant handwriting. He assumed it was Narcissa's, but only when he saw Malfoy's name did he realise it wasn't. Curious, he squinted as he tried to decipher the faded writing.

It took him a while to manage to read what was written, and when he did, it made him roll his eyes. He couldn't make out a lot of the words because they were too small and were half gone because of how close to the edge they'd been written. It said something along the lines of a life debt having to be repaid and ended with best wishes, probably, but a lot of the sentence wasn't legible, so he couldn't be sure. It sounded just like Malfoy—holding onto a life debt or something of the like even though they'd reached the point where such things were so trivial in comparison to everything else.

Shrugging, Harry placed the picture back and then turned to the objects he had lined up.

They consisted of trinkets, memorabilia, keepsakes, and other odd pieces of junk that he was sure he'd only kept because of their sentimental value. He picked up a mirror shard and instantly recognised it as being part of the mirror Sirius had given him. Dispelling thoughts related to Sirius, he set the shard aside and turned to the other things.

There was a broken quill that he was sure was the one he had used through his years at Hogwarts; an odd-looking pair of spectacles that he recognised as having belonged to Luna; there was Neville's Remembrall, which he honestly didn't know why he had (he reckoned Neville had forgotten about it); there was an empty vial with remnants of golden liquid that he presumed must've contained Felix Felicis; the Snitch Dumbledore had left him and a spiral stone he guessed he must've picked up from the Pumpkin Patch outside Hagrid's hut; a weird fragment of coloured glass and a torn piece of parchment with printed words on it that he didn't recognise; there was a whole pile of newspaper cut-outs from The Daily Prophet; a round, green badge with _Potter Stinks_   on it, and a whole bunch of other stuff he recognised and those that he didn't.

Sighing, he took a moment to inspect each object before putting them all back into the pouch—that now, when he looked at carefully, he recognised as being one that Hermione had enchanted to hold countless things, just like the drawstring bag she had. He tied it up and placed it beside the pictures. Deciding that the cloth was too dirty to use, he discarded it and locked the pouch and pictures away in his desk drawer, deciding to think about what he would do with them later.

For now, he wanted to take a much needed—and definitely well deserved—nap.

* * *

 

_He was standing in the middle of a very familiar courtyard, rubble and debris scattered all around him. There was a sudden rumbling, and he only just managed to jump out of the way as a huge chunk of rubble crashed down. The rumbling continued, and he looked up to see pieces of debris raining down on him._

_Yelling, he ran for cover, but despite how far he ran, he never seemed to get anywhere. The huge chunks of stone and broken pillars continued to crash to the ground, with him barely managing to escape each time._

_He kept running and running and running and the debris kept falling and falling and falling. Finally, he heard the loud toll of a bell. He counted how many times it rang—one, two, three… eight, nine, ten… fourteen, fifteen, sixteen… twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four…_

_Frowning, he dodged around a beam as it fell in his path, wondering how many times the bell would toll. Every time he thought the sound got distant, the next time it would ring louder._

_He kept running, not feeling exhausted in the least, although he sensed something was about to happen. Just as the thought crossed his mind, a huge chunk of a wall fell right in front of him. He stopped in his tracks, staring at it, and a door materialised in the middle. Curious, he walked towards it and pushed it open._

_The moment he stepped through the doorway, the wall and the courtyard were gone, replaced by a forest, fires from all around lighting up the night. He could hear people screaming, but he couldn't see anybody, and he made his way around the fires, wondering where he was._

_A loud scream pierced the night, and he automatically ran towards the sound, his heart pounding against his ribs. He was sweating from the heat of the fires, but he persevered. A sudden burst of orange flames appeared before him, and he turned left as the screaming continued._

_He kept running, trying not to get burnt by the lashing tongues of fire, intent on saving whoever was screaming. He finally stopped when he spotted a person crouching on the ground, trembling and whimpering. Slowly walking towards whoever it was, he reached over and laid a hand on the person's shoulder._

_A platinum-blond head whipped around and stared at him wide-eyed, his expression fearful and the reflection of the flames dancing in his silver eyes._

_"Malfoy?" he asked incredulously, his voice sounding like that of a young boy._

_Malfoy, who was also much younger, opened his mouth and spoke in a ghostly whisper._

_"You chose to save the life of a person who's given you nothing but misery from the very start. You came back even though the others didn't want to. You gave me the chance to choose between fear and courage. And I choose to stand up and fight."_

_He stared, unsure of what the blond was talking about, but the fire was raging and the bell was tolling—they didn't have much longer. If they didn't go now, they would die. He tried to pull Malfoy up, but the fellow was adamant about remaining there._

_"Save those who need saving. You've already saved me; now go to the others."_

_He didn't understand, but there was no time. Malfoy refused to move, and Harry could hear other people screaming. There was a burst of fire from the side, and he jumped out of the way—except he was the only one. He watched as the burning beam fell on top of Malfoy, and even as he shouted out, the fire engulfed the blond and there was nothing he could do._

_People were screaming. The bell was tolling. Time was ticking._

_There was nothing he could do but leave. Even as he turned around and started running, he could hear Malfoy's voice echoing in his head._

_"There are people who aren't worth saving, but such people are the ones that will never forget the second chance they were given."_

* * *

 

**10:30 AM**

Harry woke up feeling like he'd forgotten something, except he wasn't sure what. He'd fallen asleep on the sofa in his study again, and he smacked his lips as his stomach grumbled. Groaning, he pushed himself up and stood, yawning and scratching his head. He unlocked the door, quickly cleaning himself up with his wand and scolding himself for making a habit of it.

Trudging downstairs, he paused as he listened to Ginny's voice coming from the living room. He could hear the kids playing outside, so he wondered whom she was talking to. Stifling a yawn, he shuffled inside, grumbling about his need for another mug of coffee.

Ginny looked over her shoulder, her back to him, as he came to sit at the counter.

"What've you got there?" he asked when he heard the rather familiar high-pitched twittering.

Ginny turned sideways to reveal Pigwidgeon, and it became very clear as to why the—still-tiny—owl wasn't creating utter havoc. It was too busy munching on the snacks Ginny was holding out for it.

She handed him a letter, and Harry unfurled it quickly, scanning the contents. He raised his eyebrows when he saw who the addressee was, rereading the short letter to see if there was anything specific he should have noticed.

"Who's it from?" Ginny asked, stroking the owl and smiling as it tittered happily.

"Neville," Harry murmured, propping his chin on his hand and scanning the letter for the third time.

"Really? That's surprising. We haven't heard from him in quite a while. What does it say?"

"He wants to meet with me," Harry replied, eyeing the time and date. "Today. Now."

" _Now_?" Ginny asked in surprise. "Don't you have to go to work?"

Harry shrugged and Summoned his self-inking quill. "I'll send a letter to Buxley and tell him I'll be late. It's going to be more paperwork for me, anyway."

Ginny hummed and stepped forwards, peering at the letter, but Harry had already wiped it clean with his wand and picked up the quill as it fluttered down on to the counter.

"How come he sent the letter with Pig?" he asked as he wrote a quick letter to his deputy.

"Oh, Hannah sent Angie some really nice wine when we were away, and Angie wanted to send a thank-you note back."

"What happened to Perseus?" Harry asked, signing the letter.

Ginny rolled eyes and crossed her arms. "George probably sent that bloody bird off to some obscure location to procure illegal ingredients, no doubt."

Harry grinned as he tore the parchment in half and wrote a second letter addressed to Neville. "Sounds about right."

"Can you _believe_ George sent Percy a huge package of Wheezes and a lengthy letter introducing him to his namesake?" Ginny huffed. She'd been very protective of Percy ever since the war, and they'd grown awfully close since he got married, especially after Molly and Lucy came along.

Harry laughed, and Ginny smacked his arm. "Don't laugh. It isn't funny! Poor Percy got so upset about the fact that George considered the owl his namesake instead of the other way around."

Harry threw his head back and guffawed as Ginny fumed. "How can I not laugh? That's bloody brilliant!" he said as she shot him a withering look.

"You're terrible, all of you," she sniffed as he signed off the second letter, still chuckling.

Harry rolled the pieces of parchment up and gave them to Ginny to tie to Pig's talons. Somehow, the obnoxious bird hadn't quite taken a liking to him, even after all these years. It adored Ginny, though, and seemed oddly possessive of her. He made a face at Pig when it stared at him and could've sworn it had an evil glint in its eye as it took off.

"That bird is out to get me, I'm telling you," he remarked when it disappeared out the window.

"Stop bullying Pig," came Ginny's instant retort, and he rolled his eyes. "If you don't like him, get an owl of your own."

She seemed to realise her mistake as soon as the words left her mouth, but the damage had already been done. She blustered and went red in the face, but he pursed his lips and stood, nodding curtly.

"Well, I suppose it's about time I got changed, then."

"Harry—"

"I'll make sure to buy Pig a larger pack of owl snacks next time," he called over his shoulder as he exited the living room, leaving Ginny with a dumbfounded look on her face. Although it had been years, Hedwig's death was still a touchy subject for Harry, and he had vowed that he would wait until the kids were old enough for Hogwarts to get a new owl.

Shaking his head, he padded to the bathroom to get dressed. _Now to see what Neville's up to…_

 

* * *

 


	5. 5 Lies: Careful Manipulation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rabastan Lestrange's release from Azkaban has set things into motion in a direction Harry hadn't expected. Will his meeting with Neville affect the way he handles his nightmares in any way? Read on to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year to all my readers! I hope you have a meaningful new year where you overcome obstacles and grow stronger and wiser from experiencing hardship.

**Chapter 5**

**Careful Manipulation**

* * *

**[31 October 2011]**

**12:09 PM**

He ducked into the Leaky Cauldron just as the rain started to come down hard. Taking off his coat and ruffling his wet hair, he scanned the crowded pub, trying to find Neville.

"Harry? Oh, you're here already!"

He turned to see Hannah bustle over. She wiped her hands on her brightly-coloured apron as she stopped before him, a wide smile on her face.

"Hi, Hannah," he said, hugging her lightly and smiling down at her.

Hannah Abbott—now Longbottom—hadn't changed a bit since their time at school—or, at least, of what little he had known of her back then. She'd put on a bit of weight, though, since he had last seen her. She still was just as bright and happy as he remembered her to be, and he'd always thought she did Neville a lot of good—especially after he and Luna decided to part ways after coming to the conclusion that they wanted very different things.

That relationship was one no one had really understood—not even the two in it, apparently—but they'd parted ways rather amicably. Luna now had twin boys and was happily frolicking around the world in her search for exotic, mythical creatures. Nobody had even known that Luna had gotten married until one day when she randomly invited them all to a party at her house and introduced her husband, Rolf, to them. Once she announced that he was a Magizoologist and Newt Scamander's grandson, though, nobody was really all that surprised.

They were a match made in heaven, and that was all there was to be said about it.

"Neville's back there," Hannah was saying as she led him to the back of the pub. "I told him to take you upstairs, but he was oddly adamant about seeing you here."

She smiled up at Harry, and he thanked her, watching her bustle away before turning to eye the far table. Neville was sitting there, barely discernable from the shadows, drinking what looked to be much too strong a drink for that time of day. Harry walked over and stood right in front of the table before Neville noticed him.

"Harry! You made it!" he said, standing up and pulling Harry into a rough hug.

"Good to see you too, Neville." Neville motioned for him to take a seat. "So, I got your letter," Harry said rather stupidly when Neville continued to stare at him with a dazed look on his face.

"Oh. Oh, yes, my letter, right. Almost forgot about that," Neville blabbered, pouring a rather large amount of Firewhiskey into his mug.

"You seem to be starting your day on an awfully strong note," Harry commented as Neville took several gulps before putting down his drink with a grimace.

"Yeah, once I started I just couldn't stop," Neville replied, looking rather guilty.

Harry leaned forward in his seat and laid his arms on the table, giving Neville a long, searching look. "What happened?"

The Herbology Professor sighed, fumbled around for a moment, seemed like he wanted to say something, and then slumped back in his seat.

"Neville," Harry prompted again, and Neville sighed once more before looking up.

"You probably know by now," he said, a haunted look in his dark eyes.

"Know about what?" Harry's mind was already whirring through worst-case scenarios.

"It's this weekend." Neville seemed to struggle for a bit, as though he couldn't say whatever he wanted to. "His release."

"Whose—"

"Rabastan Lestrange."

It took Harry about ten seconds to put two and two together. And when he did, a sense of exhaustion settled over him, and he fell back in his seat.

"Rodolphus Lestrange's brother?" he asked quietly.

Neville looked around, and, after a moment's hesitation, mumbled a quiet  _Muffliato._

"Yeah, the same," he said, shifting forwards in his seat. "I'm sure you've heard the rumours of Rodolphus Lestrange begging for the Kiss just a few months after his imprisonment, right? Said he couldn't bear any more nightmares of his wife being tortured. Said he was done."

Harry nodded. He'd been one of the few who had offered to file all the details regarding the remaining Death Eaters after the war. He hadn't really believed Lestrange's reason and had wanted to find out more, but no one seemed to care one way or another, so the subject was dropped.

"Yeah, I know," he said when Neville seemed like he was still waiting for an answer.

"Well, the brother mustn't have been too happy about it," Neville mumbled, reaching for the Firewhiskey.

Harry grabbed it first and placed it on the ground beside his feet. "Everyone knows Rabastan Lestrange was far less dangerous than his brother—especially after those first fourteen years."

Neville nodded and stared at the table for a long minute. "I went to see him," he murmured almost inaudibly, and Harry hissed, a surge of anger shooting through him as he leant forward and slammed his palm down on the table.

Neville flinched, but Harry's ears were ringing, and his heart was racing so he barely noticed. "Of all the  _mental—"_

"I know," Neville immediately said, holding up his hands. "You're right, it was a very stupid thing to do."

"I swear, Neville, it's a good thing I have self-control or you'd have my fist in your face right now."

Neville jerked back, alarmed, and frowned. "Mate, relax, what's wrong with you?"

Harry ground his teeth together as he tried to breathe, and then, reaching down, picked the bottle up and took a swig.

"Sorry, I haven't been getting much sleep lately," Harry grunted, and Neville's frown deepened.

"They're back, aren't they?" he finally asked, a knowing look in his eyes. "Your nightmares. They're back."

For a second, Harry thought of lying, but he immediately decided against it. If there was anyone he could talk to about his nightmares, it was Neville.

"Yeah… they weren't very bad at first, just passing nightmares, but they've been getting very vivid, and very real, of late. Almost like they're visions." He shuddered at the thought, absentmindedly touching his scar.

"Harry," Neville said, reaching forward and grasping his arm. "He's dead. Voldemort is dead. You killed him."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know that but…"

Harry sighed tiredly, rubbing his face with his hands. His hour-long nap hadn't helped in any way. In fact, he was even more exhausted after it than he had been that morning.

"I know. I used to get them too. Still do, sometimes, but they aren't nearly as bad."

Harry looked up at the earnest expression on Neville's face and then swallowed thickly, taking another gulp of the Firewhiskey. " _Used_ to?" he asked, and Neville nodded.

"Yeah. It got really bad at one point, and Gran demanded that I either go see a Mind Healer or have her dose my food and drink with dreamless sleep potions," Neville said with a wry smile.

Harry scoffed and then sighed. "Who did you go see? And how come this is the first time I'm hearing about this?"

Neville shrugged. "I didn't want anyone to know."

"Oh, come on, mate, whether you wanted people to know or not is besides the point. Being a war hero, if you'd even taken a single step in the direction of St Mungo's, it'd be all over the papers."

Neville snorted at that and nodded. "Which is why I didn't go to the healers in St Mungo's."

Harry stared at him, waiting for an explanation, and when he gave Neville a pointed look, the latter only shrugged.

"I can't reveal the name of my healer, Harry, that takes away the whole purpose of it. Besides, the place I chose to go to has a very strict confidentiality policy. They'll know if I've disclosed the name of one of their people."

"OK," Harry said slowly, licking his lips. "Can you tell me the name of this place, at least?"

Neville gave him a patient look and said, "Only if you've decided to go to them for sure."

Harry threw up his hands, slumping back in his seat. "And you honestly expect me to just take your word for it?"

Neville shrugged. "That's what I did."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, well, we'll talk about  _me_ later; I'm more concerned about  _you_. You still haven't gotten to the reason why you wanted to meet with me, let alone the reason why you went to Azkaban to see Lestrange."

Neville made a face. "I was hoping you'd forgotten that."

"Well, I didn't, so." He made an offhanded gesture with his hand.

Neville grimaced. "Well, when I heard about his release… I had this sudden urge to go talk to him."

"You don't say," Harry said sarcastically, and Neville pulled a face.

"It was very safe. I basically had a whole platoon escort me to and fro. It was rather stressful, to be honest."

Harry gave him an incredulous look. "Trained Aurors stress you out while you're completely fine having a tea party with dangerous prisoners?"

"Harry, give me a break already!"

Harry relaxed then, grinning as he said, "Alright, alright."

"Git," Neville grumbled, and Harry laughed.

"I've been hearing that an awful lot, lately. So, what did the two of you chat about?"

" _Chat_ is hardly the word I'd use… it was mostly me trying to make polite conversation while he sat and stared at the wall." Neville sighed. "It was pointless, me going there. All that came out of it was me visiting my healer every day for the past week and trying not to break things."

"Well, that's a lesson learnt. So… did you call me here so you could be mental again and ask me to get you into Azkaban on the day of Lestrange's release?" Neville smiled sheepishly, and Harry rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Neville."

"He has nobody left—"

"So  _you_ have to go? And do what? I swear, if this is some grand plan that your healer put you up to…"

"It's not," Neville said a little too quickly. "It's not." He sighed. "I just—it's just—I don't know. I still go visit my parents and watch them flounder around as they unsuccessfully try to grasp at reality and I just… I just wanted to see it with my own eyes. I just want it to be over, Harry, all this pain and suffering… I just want it to end."

Neville's voice had gotten extremely quiet by the end of his little speech, and he looked exhausted. "And for the record, my healer knows nothing about this," he added, and Harry shook his head.

He felt a surge of emotion and gulped a little more Firewhiskey before nodding. "Yeah, alright, I'll see what I can do." Neville stared at him, a dumbfounded expression on his face, and Harry smirked. "But, on the condition that I babysit you—me and a whole  _platoon_ of Aurors."

Neville scrunched up his nose but nodded anyway. "Fair enough."

"Well, this was an enlightening conversation, and as much as I would like to stay and chat—" he tapped his watch, "—duty calls."

"Right, of course. Sorry that I had you take time off work."

"Actually, Neville, I'd prefer if you'd pop in every once in awhile. Just so the rest of us know you're alive and well. Hannah's been complaining that you've been refusing to come home during the holidays."

Neville looked bewildered, and Harry couldn't help but grin. "Not to  _me,_ of course."

"Harry!"

"But it seems it's true," he added, clapping Neville on the shoulder. "Don't be a stranger, Neville," he said seriously.

The corners of Neville's eyes crinkled as he smiled and nodded, pulling Harry into a rough hug. "Yeah, thanks mate."

"Anytime."

"Oh, and Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Antares."

"What?"

"The place I told you about; it's called Antares. Be sure to use an alias when you first start the correspondence."

Harry grinned at Neville and nodded. Making his way to the door, he waved at Hannah and exited the pub.

* * *

**3:45 PM**

"Well, well, look who's finally decided to grace us with his presence."

He looked up from the file cabinet and instantly broke into a grin, moving around his desk as Kingsley walked into the office.

"I should be the one saying that," Harry said as they shook hands. "What brings you to my neck of the woods?"

"There was talk of a certain Head Auror coming back from his week-long vacation. I thought I would drop by and find out the truth for myself."

Harry raised his eyebrows as he motioned for Kingsley to take a seat. "Well, I'm honoured to have the Minister himself drop in to check on me."

"Ah, well, we've known each other since before I was Minister and you were Head Auror, and not once have you suddenly taken an entire week off before," Kingsley replied, easing into a chair. He had a glint in his eye that Harry recognised all too well.

Perching on the edge of the counter beside his desk, Harry shrugged. When Kingsley continued to watch him expectantly, he bit back a sigh and said, "I just thought it was time I took the family out on a well-deserved vacation."

Kingsley nodded and then smiled, his gold-capped molars glittering. "Yes, yes, and how did that turn out?"

"Quite good, actually. Thank you for asking."

Kingsley nodded some more, and Harry shifted, feeling like Kingsley was there for more than he was letting on. Deciding to breach the topic skilfully, he walked to the coffee machine Hermione had got him when he'd first moved into his office. It truly had saved him more than once.

"Can I tempt you with a cup?" Harry asked as he poured himself a mug.

"Oh, yes, you can, but that doesn't mean I have to be tempted," came Kingsley's diplomatic reply, and Harry grinned.

"I see they did well choosing you as Minister," Harry said, raising his mug in toast and placing a cup in front of Kingsley as he went around to sit in his chair. "So, do you think now would be a good time to tell me why you're  _really_ here, or do we finish our coffee first?"

Kingsley eyed him and then nodded. "Straight to the point as always, I see."

"Well, when you hold the post I do, even the slightest bit of dilly-dallying can be fatal," Harry responded just as evenly, sipping on his cup.

"Fair enough." Kingsley reached for his cup, decided against it, and then continued. "Well, I suppose you should know—"

"About Rabastan Lestrange's release? Yes, I got the order the day it was delivered," Harry lied easily. He hadn't gotten the court order, and, if Kingsley reacted in the way he expected, he was about to find out why. Not only had his earlier conversation with Neville been highly enlightening, he now knew that, as he had anticipated, his week-long vacation had done more damage than good.

Kingsley sighed, looking somewhat agitated. Harry flicked his wand and shut the door, muttering a quiet Imperturbable Charm as an after-thought. "If you're here asking if I intend to head the security detail during his transfer, I'm going to tell you that I'm doing it irrespective of whether you want me to or not."

Kingsley's eye twitched, his mouth downturned in the slightest, and Harry knew it was because of his tone of voice, but he continued to hold steady eye contact. If there was one thing he'd learnt from working with Kingsley for all these years, it was that the wizard greatly trusted those who stood up to him to a certain level and held their own ground. As intimidating as Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt was, Harry still knew that the wizard depended on a lot of people to help him hold the fort.

"Harry, this isn't your decision to make." Kingsley's voice was strained, and Harry sat up, knowing the conversation may just have taken a turn for the worst.

"Actually, I would like to argue that it is. I  _am_  Head Auror, and as Head of the Auror department, I would think it my duty to make sure that one of Voldemort's most loyal Death Eaters' release and transfer happens seamlessly and according to protocol. I would rather be there than not. The last thing we need is a Death Eater on the loose."

" _Former_ Death Eater," Kingsley said, an edge to his voice. "And it's the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's decision as to who will or will not head the security force."

Harry bit back a sigh and tried to relax his features as he asked, "So what can I do for you then, Minister?"

"I'm asking you not to go to the DMLE demanding that you be put on top of this," Kingsley said in the same tone of voice, making it sound more of an order than the request it was worded to sound like. Harry knew that one wrong step, and their relationship may very well turn sour.

"I'm afraid to say that you wasted your time, coming all the way here, Minister," he said quietly, and Kingsley seemed to expand.

"Are you telling me you already went to the DMLE?"

"I told you, Kingsley, I got the order when it was first delivered—"

"Has anyone told you you're a terrible liar?" Kingsley cut in, standing up and starting to pace.

Harry sighed.  _Well, at least I tried._

"On that note, can I ask  _why_ I didn't get the order? I'm assuming there was some mistake with the paperwork—"

"There was no mistake," Kingsley said crisply, rounding on Harry. "I specifically told the DMLE to keep the release a secret. So I want to know how is it that you managed to find out about a highly classified transfer that no one except me, the Head of the DMLE, and the Head Warden knew about."

_Shit. Damnit, Neville._

"What I don't understand," Harry said, trying to look as unfazed as possible, although his heart was beating faster by the minute, "is why you thought it necessary to keep something this important from me."

"Remind me again who up and disappeared on vacation," Kingsley said, and Harry nodded.

"You're right, and I'm sorry. That was unprecedented, and I should've informed—"

"No, Harry, that's not my point. My point is that if I were to have told you about this release, you wouldn't have taken that vacation, and trust me when I say  _everyone_ needed you to take the week off. Your constant jittering and overcompensating were driving the whole department mad."

He flushed, but tried to bring the topic back on track. "Well, now I know and I'm going to be leading the security unit."

Kingsley shook his head. "There's no need for that. Robards has already got it covered."

His eyebrows shot up at the mention of the previous Head Auror. "Robards? What the hell does Robards have to do with anything?"

When Kingley gave him a pointed look, his jaw dropped. " _Robards_ replaced Gumboil as Head of the Undercover Hit-Wizard Unit? And when exactly was I going to be notified about this?"

"The promotion was very recent—"

"How recent?"

"Two days ago."

Harry dropped his head and nodded. "While I was on vacation, of course. It almost feels like you  _chose_ that one week I was away to finish off all the important stuff."

"Harry." Kingsley stopped his pacing to come back and sit in the chair. "You know that not everyone is very happy with you becoming Head Auror."

"I'm sorry, I thought we'd gone over this countless times already—"

"Which is exactly  _why_ I'm here."

Harry stifled the urge to bang his head against the desk. If there was another thing he'd learnt from working with Kingsley for so long, it was that the man liked playing mind games. It made sense, why he did it, but that didn't make the process any more pleasant. In fact, he hated it when Kingsley found a constant need to beat around the bush before telling him exactly what he came to see him for.

"Right, and what is that, exactly?" he asked as he breathed deeply and tried to calm his racing heart. Only Kingsley could affect him like this every single time he wanted to, and Harry  _still_ let the provocations get to him despite knowing they were meant to disgruntle him.

"Robards already knows what a good Auror you are and that you deserved the post you hold," Kinsley began. "But the problem was that once you got promoted and Robards stepped down, he no longer held the authority for recommendation."

Harry groaned, massaging his temples. Of courseRobards' promotion had been mostly political in nature. It didn't make any sense for the man to just up and decide to take up such a taxing position when he'd just decided to retire.

"So you decided to offer him a promotion exactly when I decided to take a break from work," he said tiredly, trying to massage away the oncoming migraine—with no luck.

"It had more to do with convenience than anything else, but it helped prove that you had no hand in it. Everyone knows what a good rapport you two have built, and it's usually at the Head Auror's recommendation that they choose the Chief of the Undercover Unit."

"But how did you convince them that I had no say in the matter?"

Kingsley shrugged a shoulder, the corner of his mouth twitching. "That you did all on your own. All I had to say was, 'Have you met Harry Potter? There's not a chance he'd be on vacation if he was involved in this,' and everyone believed me in no time."

Harry rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to retort when he suddenly realised something. "Wait, so how exactly did Neville know about all of this?"

"Who do you think told him about the release?"

_And of course Neville's involved in this. I swear, I don't know why I'm still surprised at this point. I'll bet Neville doesn't even know that I was in the dark about it all._

"I'm guessing you felt obligated to tell him, considering Lestrange was one of the four Death Eaters that put Alice and Frank Longbottom permanently in St Mungo's?"

Kingsley nodded sadly. "That and the fact that he played a pivotal role in ending the war as well as being a part of the Auror Department until very recently."

Harry bowed his head. "Well, that was nice of you."

"Oh, no, I was one of the few that was initially opposed to telling him," Kingsley admitted. "And for good reason, too; he couldn't even keep it confidential, as it was supposed to be, long enough for me to tell you about the release." He shook his head and returned to his seat, but chose to stand beside it instead of sit.

_And I'm the one that's jittery,_ Harry's mind grumbled. 

"Well, either way, we seem to be derailing from the main point—are you going to stop me from heading the security unit or are you going to support my decision?" Harry asked, clasping his hands together on top of the desk.

"Oh, I absolutely do not support your decision, let me make that very clear," Kingsley said with the same familiar glint in his eye. "But I don't intend to stop you, either. Robards has been assigned to handle the whole operation, and he shall recommend you to be placed at the top of it, so until then, sit tight and don't jump the gun."

"So basically you're telling me not to let the higher ups in the DMLE know that you concocted an outrageous plan so that I could be placed as head of the security detail and you could prove that you were better than them?" Harry asked, the disbelief clear in his voice.

"Let's just say that things worked out for the best." Kingsley nodded in a way that said the matter was closed but added, "And also so you can smuggle Neville in without getting kicked off the force." He gave Harry a knowing look. "Nobody needed to be able to read his mind to know that he wanted to be there."

Harry sighed and stood up, coming to stand beside his desk. His insomnia was acting up again, and he was feeling exhausted now that his adrenaline rush had passed.

"Sometimes I wished you'd just quit with the mind games," he said tiredly, and Kingsley chortled.

"Where's the fun in that?" he asked with a wry smile. "Well, I've stayed far too long. I'll have Robards contact you directly regarding the transfer."

"Right, then." Harry moved to the door. "Thanks, Kingsley," he said just before the man stepped out.

Harry was grateful for Kingsley's help, even if sometimes he went overboard with it. Harry oftentimes felt like Kingsley used him as an excuse to show people who ran the place.

"Give Neville my regards, and tell him not to—how do I put it— _duke it out_  with Lestrange and blow his carefully set up cover," Kingsley called over his shoulder, and Harry grinned as he walked back to his desk.

He sat down and wondered if he'd be able to catch some quick shut-eye when his deputy rushed inside, a pile of boxes in his hands.

"More paperwork?" Harry groaned at Buxley's muffled affirmation and grumbled, "Become Head Auror, they said. It'll be everything you've ever dreamed of, they said."

"Who did?" Buxley asked, and Harry pointed at half the boxes.

"I'm sure most of these can be taken care of by you, Buxley, wouldn't you agree?"

Buxley went red in the face, picked up the boxes, and stalked out, grumbling the whole time.

"What can I say?" he murmured to himself as he dipped his quill in ink. "Misery loves company."


	6. 6 Lies: Slow Progression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Work stress has everyone on edge, causing them to get on each other's nerves, but a rough start for Harry ends with a reasonably good finish as Hermione and he work overtime at the Ministry.

**Chapter 6**

**Slow Progression**

* * *

**[2 November 2011]**

**7:00 AM**

Harry groaned as one of the kids jumped on him, effectively breaking sleep's spell. His instant reaction was to lash out at whoever it was.

"Stop it!"

Albus froze, his eyes going wide. He looked frightened, and Harry instantly felt terrible.

"Hey, Al, sorry. C'mere." He held out his hand, and Albus hesitated for a moment before slowly taking it and cuddling up against him.

"What time is it?" he asked groggily, too lazy to find his watch, and Albus checked his naked wrist.

After much deliberation, the boy said, "It's time to wake up."

Harry chuckled and nuzzled Albus's hair, wrapping his arms around him. "How can I wake up when I've got such a cute cuddle buddy?"

"I'm not cute!" Albus retorted, struggling to get out of Harry's hold.

"I think you are," he murmured as his son struggled some more, feeling his mind slip towards unconsciousness. Now, if only Albus would stop moving…

"Girls are cute! I'm a  _boy,"_ Albus yelled right in Harry's ear, and he groaned, rolling off Albus and pulling the blankets over his head.

"Dad, wake up! Wake up!"

"Go away, Al," he moaned as Albus straddled him.

"No! You have to go to work!"

"Don't you have better things to do than wake me up?" he groused as his son started bouncing up and down.

"Mummy said to wake you up! Wake up!"

He tried to pretend like Albus wasn't jumping on top of him and screaming for all of twenty seconds before deciding that waking up was a better form of torture.

"Alright," he said as he bundled Albus in the blankets and picked him up. "It's time for little Mister Sunshine to go away and let Daddy wake up."

He deposited Albus—blankets and all—outside the door, and, while the five-year-old tried to extricate himself from the bundle, trudged into the bathroom. He was quick with his morning routine, as usual, and stepped under the showerhead, groaning as the hot water burned his skin.

Letting his chin fall against his chest, he sighed as the scalding water ran down his neck and back, enjoying the way his tense muscles slowly relaxed under its burning touch. He stood there till Albus and Lily started banging on the door and screaming. Muttering to himself about kids and unlimited energy and the unfairness of it all, he wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out.

Lily and Albus immediately shrieked and took off, and he rolled his eyes as he walked to the wardrobe. "What's with all the hyperactivity so early in the morning?"

Ginny came up behind him and hugged him, and he expected her to move away, considering he was still dripping wet, but she continued to cling on to him. He frowned. "Gin? Is everything alright?"

She didn't answer for a long moment and finally raised her head and kissed his cheek. "Everything's fine."

"Have you been sleeping alright lately?" he asked, turning towards her, and she nodded, looking wary.

"Yeah, why?"

He shook his head and motioned to the bags under her eyes. "Doesn't seem like it."

"Yes, well, not all of us can sleep as soundly as you."

He raised his eyebrows at the snarky reply, and she sighed, massaging her temples. "Sorry, I just… I guess it's the stress of the tournament getting to me."

"Oh, yeah, it starts this weekend, right? Who's playing first?"

"The Magpies and the Wasps," she replied, moving away and flopping onto the bed. "I'm going to have to leave on Friday if I plan on going as part of the Harpies' press team."

"Why're you going as part of the Harpies?" Harry asked as he dried his hair.

Ginny waved her hand vaguely and said, "It'll be easier to travel that way, plus I'll get better access to the other teams."

"And the Harpies' manager's OK with that?"

"Why wouldn't she be? I was a Harpy before. She's  _more_ than thrilled to have me on board. Won't shut up about me being a part of the team again."

Harry looked towards her when she stood up with an agitated sigh. "Ginny, you don't have to go if—"

"Don't start with that, Harry. You know I have to work."

"All I'm saying is—"

"Well,  _don't_ say it!"

Haryy held up his hands, and she threw her arms out in frustration before walking away. He sighed as he pulled on his clothes, feeling the beginning of a headache. Rummaging inside the cupboard, he pulled out a half-empty bottle of Firewhiskey and took long gulps, revelling at the feel of the burning trail as it slid smoothly down his throat. Who cared about drinking alcohol in the morning? If he was going to have to deal with bipolar-Ginny, hyperactive kids, Kingsley's mind games and everything else, he was going to need more than just a simple energising draught.

* * *

**9:33 AM**

"You look awful."

"Why, thank you, Hermione, that's exactly what I needed to hear right now," Harry grumbled as she fell into step beside him.

"Good, because you're not going to want to hear what I have to say next."

He glanced sideways at her, but she ignored his look by pretending like she was focusing on the clipboard in her hand.

"Don't say controversial things and just pretend like you never said them," Harry sighed as he entered the Auror office and tried to greet everyone as cheerfully as possible.

"So you want me to announce sensitive information to the whole Ministry? That can be arranged."

"Don't give me cheek, Hermione, I'm really in no mood for it," he snapped as he strode into his office.

"That makes the two of us," she replied in the exact same tone of voice as she slammed the door shut and crossed her arms. "So when exactly were you going to tell me about Lestrange?"

He swore loudly and flicked his wand, casting an Imperturbable Charm on the door. "Try and be a little louder, why don't you," he said as he flopped down in his chair.

She strode up to his desk and, placing her hands on top of it, leant forwards, a warning look in her eyes. "Don't start with me, Harry—"

"I only found out two days ago myself, Hermione, and in case you've forgotten—which I don't think is possible considering  _you're_ the one that said it—it's  _sensitive information._ If I could go around talking about it, I would've."

He thought she'd give a smart-mouthed reply to his outburst, but she only stood back with a frown and crossed her arms.

"You found out only two days ago? How come? Who told you?"

"Neville," he sighed, massaging his temples. He regretted finishing half a bottle of Firewhiskey now. He was already starting to feel sick.

" _Neville?_ How in the world does  _Neville_ know?"

"Ask Kingsley," he snapped, and she glared at him. "Look, I'm not at liberty to say, alright? So can you stop badgering me about it and just—I don't know, find out some other way?"

She cocked an eyebrow. "So you don't care if I find out, you just don't want me to find out from  _you."_

"Yes. Thank you for getting it so quickly. Now, can you leave so that I can—"

"Of course not."

He groaned loudly and sprawled across the desk, revelling at the feel of the cool glass top against his throbbing forehead.

Hermione was silent for a time. "You look ill."

"Yes. Thanks. Please go away, now?"

"Did your nightmares get worse?"

He sat back faster than he intended to and slapped a hand to his mouth as he felt the bile rush to his throat. Unable to swallow it down, he turned to the side and threw up all over the floor and his shoes.

Hermione was by his side in an instant with a glass of water and a wet towel. She Scoured the vomit on the ground and his shoes and wiped his mouth with the towel.

"Here," she said softly, helping him lean back and gulp down the water. "Do you want some more?"

He nodded and she hastened away, returning with more water and another wet towel. She helped him drink the water and placed the towel over his eyes, slowly massaging his forehead.

Harry groaned, and she shushed him as she continued with her ministrations. After about ten minutes, she went away, and when he thought she wouldn't return, she bustled back in.

"Harry, here, drink this," she said, pressing something cool to his lips. He swallowed the bittersweet liquid that filled his mouth and sighed, relaxing. "Here, let's go to the sofa."

He stood up and let her help him to the sofa, feeling drowsy and like his head was full of cotton. She helped him out of his coat and tie, undid the first few buttons of his shirt, and helped him take off his belt and shoes. He lowered himself onto the sofa and fell back against the satin cushions, sighing at the feel of the cool material.

He heard her move around and felt something else press against his lips. When she instructed him to drink, he did, instantly feeling the heaviness that came with the Potion for Dreamless sleep. He managed to mumble an incoherent thank you before the heavy hand of sleep pulled him into the much welcome world of unconsciousness.

* * *

_He was falling._

_There was nothing around him expect blackness. The only light came from a tiny pinprick high above him. He didn't know how far away the light was, but he stretched his arms out and made a grab at it. Finding that the light was farther than he had anticipated, he breathed out slowly, letting the air leave his lungs and fill him with a sense of extreme calmness._

_Was this a nightmare?_

_If it was, it was nothing at all like the ones he'd had before._

_He continued to fall, the wind gently caressing the back of his neck and ruffling his hair. He felt weightless and light, and he thoroughly enjoyed the sense of nothingness that engulfed him. He was falling through space and time, through black, emptiness, and he'd never felt so at peace in his entire life._

_It was almost like he was dead._

_Just as the thought crossed his mind, his body jolted to a stop, and he hung in the air, nothing holding him from above or supporting him from below. If he willed it, he could continue to fall, but something was telling him he shouldn't._

_He stretched a hand towards the light again, staring at it with hooded eyes, and wondered if he could reach it if he tried hard enough. He wondered what was beyond the light, and if he wanted to know._

_Was it a world beyond the mortal form? A world beyond life and death?_

_The light expanded with his thoughts, and he felt a gentle—but insistent—tugging in his chest as the pinprick slowly grew and dispelled the darkness._

_Why? He didn't want it to go away. He liked it there, in the nothingness. He didn't want to start feeling again. He didn't want to start living again._

_Why?_

" _It's time to wake up, sweetheart," an oddly familiar voice whispered, and he felt like he should listen to it._

_He closed his eyes as the light engulfed him in its warmth, dispelling the peace and serenity of the darkness and replacing it with energy and life._

_He was alive again. But he missed the nothingness._

* * *

**12:35 PM**

When he awoke, he felt much more refreshed and well rested than he had in a very long time. He sighed happily and rolled off the sofa, pulling on his glasses as he buttoned up his shirt. Deciding that he felt better without his coat and tie, he made his way to his desk—only to find Hermione fast asleep in his chair, mouth open and head lolling to the side.

He smiled as he watched her sleep for a moment, wondering if he should wake her up. She looked exhausted almost all the time lately, and he knew that she was working five times as hard as usual, considering her goal was to get promoted into the DMLE. Checking his watch, he exclaimed in surprise and carefully shook her awake.

"Hermione, wake up," he whispered. She stirred and mumbled for a moment before blinking and looking around blearily.

"What, Harry? Where am I? What time is it?"

"Half past twelve. We've been asleep for a good two and a half hours."

She frowned as his words slowly sunk in, and then bolted out of the chair, nearly falling over in the process.

"Half past—oh  _no!_ I have so much paperwork due in an hour!" she wailed, picking up her coat and trying to redo her extremely messy hair. "Stop staring and help," she snapped, and he shrugged, looking around for her shoes and Summoning them to her. "Oh, this is the worst," she moaned as she put them on, unsuccessfully coiling her hair into a bun. "Oh, for the love of—"

"Hermione," Harry said, holding her by the arms and dragging her over to the chair on the other side of his desk. "Sit down, take a deep breath, and let me make you some coffee."

She scowled up at him, and he gave her an innocent smile. "So why is it that  _you_ , who was just puking his guts out and passed out on the sofa, are all bright and fresh, while  _I_ , who took care of you and cleaned up after you, am getting mothered right now?"

"Because I puked my guts out and passed out while you cleaned up after me," Harry said with a grin, dodging out of the way as she kicked at him.

He walked over to the coffee machine and poured the decoction into two mugs, heating them up with a quick spell and adding a dash of milk to them. Taking the mugs over to where Hermione was grumbling away, he placed hers on the desk and Summoned the box of croissants he'd brought from home because he'd left before breakfast.

"Here." He placed two croissants on a napkin in front of her and bit back a smile as she glowered at them. She then grumbled an angry Summoning Spell and he moved out of the way just as a small container of jam came zooming towards the desk and skittered to a stop.

"Hermione, relax, for Merlin's sake," he said as he scribbled on a memo and carefully folded it into an aeroplane. Once he was satisfied with it, he let it flutter for a bit as he opened the door and watched it zoom off.

"I'm  _completely_ relaxed," she muttered around a large piece of croissant as she picked up her coffee.

"Also, maybe slow down a bit? Your paperwork's not going anywhere," Harry said as he came to flop down in his chair.

"Exactly! And it needs to be going places, and so do I, so if you'll excuse me—"

"You wanted to see me, boss?"

Harry looked up and grinned as Buxley poked his head into the office. "Yes, Buxley, there's something I need you to do."

"Well, I'll be off, then," Hermione said with a sigh and stood up.

"If you could have Gonsales from the Beast Division lend a hand to Mrs Weasley—"

"Harry!"

"—I'm sure we could work something out about that whole box of complaints we received against him."

"Right away, boss."

Hermione was staring at him with a slack-jawed expression, and he leaned back in his chair, unable the wipe the grin off his face.

"What?" he asked as she went red and stormed up to him.

"I  _cannot_ believe—"

"Hermione, I'm doing everybody a favour, alright? We all know the DMLE's been eyeing you to take up one of their vacant posts for  _ages_ now, and the faster you finish up all of your—" he waved his hand, "—paperwork, the faster you can give up that uncomfortable chair of yours and get the nice, plush one. Plus, you've been covering for Gonsales for years now, so I only think it fair that he helps you this one time. "

She pursed her lips. "I don't just want to fill a vacant post, and I most definitely don't want this promotion for the  _chair—_ "

"Of course you don't; I'm only joking."

She made a frustrated noise that sounded oddly like an angry Crookshanks, but before she could pounce, a memo flew in and settled atop his desk. Harry opened it, scanned the contents, and handed it over to Hermione with a grin.

"Would you look at that; it seems Gonsales is more than happy to help you out."

She frowned at the memo for a long moment and then sighed. "I feel like I'm cheating."

"Well," he said as he ushered her out, "I'd rather you  _feel_ like you're cheating than actually cheat."

"That makes no—"

"Papers are due in an hour, remember?" Harry reminded her, and Hermione gasped, her eyes becoming comically round. "I'll see you for a late lunch!" he called after her as she dashed down the corridor, nearly upsetting one of the large potted plants as she zoomed around a corner.

He chuckled to himself as he walked back into the office, grinning at everybody and throwing around compliments as he made it back to his desk. Looks like downing all of that Firewhiskey hadn't been such a bad decision after all.

Now, all that was left to do was to get his work done so he didn't have to stay past midnight…

* * *

_Staring around, he briefly wondered where he was. He seemed to be standing in the middle of an empty corridor that looked oddly familiar, except he didn't know why. He began walking down it, taking in the stone walls and the empty lamp brackets. He suddenly found himself at a dead end and blinked, staring at the blank wall._

_Reaching up slowly, he laid his palm on it. The rough stone was cool against his burning palm, and it placated him. He looked around, wondering what to do next, when he felt the stone vibrate. A soft rumbling began and slowly grew louder. He tried to pull his palm away, but it was stuck to the wall._

_Panicking, he fumbled around, looking for his wand, but all he found was a rusty pocketknife. Unsure of what exactly he was supposed to do with it, he started jabbing at the wall, hoping that he could break away the stone and pull his hand free._

" _Oh, don't be silly, Harry, you can't break the wall."_

_He whipped around at the familiar, silky, snakelike voice, but there was nobody there but him. He tried to pull his hand away but couldn't. The rumbling had grown much stronger and dust was falling from the ceiling. He coughed as he struggled, wondering what to do._

" _Nothing to do but cut your hand off, I suppose."_

_This time, a mousy voice spoke, and he yelled out, calling for help, but the rumbling drowned his voice._

" _No need to cut your hand off, you know the password," the silky voice interjected._

_He gritted his teeth and pushed against the wall, but although the stones around him seemed to be falling apart, the wall before him seemed sturdy and unbreakable._

" _Cut it off, quick, before your only way of escape is gone!"_

_He whipped around as a loud crash sounded—a part of the ceiling had caved in and almost completely blocked the corridor. He was going to be trapped._

" _Say the password; what're you waiting for?"_

_But he didn't know the password! And he didn't want to cut off his hand! What was he supposed to do? He shouted and cried out, hoping someone would hear him, begging for the two disembodied voices to help, but they only continued to give him useless instructions._

" _Cut it off, I say!"_

" _Say the password; you know it!"_

_He cried out in alarm as a large chunk of rock fell just beside him, hitting his shoulder and breaking it. His arm, that wasn't stuck to the wall, fell limp at his side, and the pain in his shoulder was unbearable. A shudder ran through the cobblestoned ground, and he watched over his shoulder as the crumbling ceiling blocked off the corridor._

" _There's no way out for you now," the mousy voice said and faded away._

_He leaned his forehead against the wall and whimpered. He was going to die. Again, he was going to die, and this time he didn't want to. He'd already died once! How many more times did he have to die? He didn't want to die!_

" _Then say the password," the silky voice hissed, and he nodded._

_Turning to the wall, he said 'open', except the sound that left his mouth was a snake-like hiss. The wall slowly fell apart, and he pulled his hand back as a shrill cackling filled the corridor._

" _I told you that you could do it! Now come with me, you and I have much to do."_

_He nodded and stepped through the hole in the wall, blinking at the familiar sight. There was a single path that led up to the far back where the stone face of a wizard was carved. His shoes squelched against the wet ground as he walked down the path and watched as the stone wizard's mouth fell open. Out slithered the biggest snake he'd ever seen, each of its fangs nearly as tall as him, dripping with venom._

_It slithered right up to him, and just as he thought it would eat him whole, it bowed its scaly head and hissed._

" _Welcome back, Master."_

* * *

**[3 November 2011]**

**12:43 AM**

He was jolted awake by sharp raps on his door. Quickly rubbing a hand down his face and smacking his lips, he cleared his throat and straightened his shirt.

"Come in."

Buxley poked his head in and frowned. "Boss, it's past midnight; why're you still here?"

"Oh, is it? I just have a few more things to finish, and then I'll leave," he said gruffly.

Buxley walked in and turned on the light, making him squint. "It's not good for you to fall asleep at your desk, you know."

He sighed. "Yes, thank you, Mum. Now, if you could fill my mug up with some strong coffee, that would be very helpful."

Buxley frowned but did as he was told. After a time, he asked, "Is there anything I can help with?"

"No," Harry sighed. "But thanks."

"Well, I guess you're not the only one pulling an all-nighter," he said as he placed the mug on the desk. "Mrs Weasley's still here finishing up the past week's paperwork too—with Gonsales."

He grinned, and Harry chuckled. Harry downed the scalding coffee and then said, "Oh, good. Maybe I'll go check up on them. I need to stretch my legs anyway."

"You sure I can't help?" Buxley asked as they walked out of the office.

"Yes, I'm sure, Buxley. Now, why don't you get your arse home to your wife and kids before I get another owl from her yelling at me for taking away all your precious family time?"

The balding man's ears turned red and he flushed, causing Harry to laugh. "I swear I told her off for it."

"I'm telling you it's fine. She meant well, and I can always use it to pull your leg." He clapped Bluxley on the shoulder, and the burly wizard grumbled.

"Well, I'm just gonna go pack up, so…"

"Right. 'Night then."

"'Night boss."

He whistled softly as he made his way to the lifts. Stepping in, he pressed the button for the fourth floor and leant back as the magical voice echoed through the empty lift. It barely took a minute or two before the magical voice was announcing his destination, and he stepped out with a yawn, scratching his cheek.

"Should shave," he mumbled to himself as he walked down the corridors to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Pushing the door open, he carefully made his way through the dark room and to the Deputy's office at the back. Poking his head in, he grinned. "You look like you could use some company."

Hermione looked up from over the multi-coloured piles of parchment and grimaced. "What're  _you_ still doing here?"

Harry shrugged as he walked up to her desk and picked up a flier. "I took last week off, too, remember?"

"I thought you'd finished up your week's worth of work," she said as she Levitated three piles to the file cabinet.

"I thought you did, too," he replied as he slumped into a chair.

"Well, I didn't expect to be asked to clear out and change departments so soon," she said as she watched the files arrange themselves in the various drawers.

"You've gotten quite good at that," he commented as she came to sit on the desk beside him.

"Yes, well, I've had lots of practice."

Harry hummed and settled back as they watched the files, revelling in the silence of the Ministry at night, the only sound coming from the files stacking themselves.

"Do you really think it's a good idea, though? Me transferring to the DMLE?" she finally asked as she Summoned two mugs of tea.

Harry glanced at her and asked, "Why are you asking  _me_ that?"

"Because you work under the DMLE, why else?"

"Technically, that's true, but the Auror Department's more or less independent in its decision-making."

"Didn't seem that way when I spoke to Robards."

He groaned. Of  _course_ she'd spoken to Robards. He mentally berated himself for telling her to find out about Lestrange's release some other way.

"Robards needs to learn when to shut his mouth. Especially now that he's leading the undercover division."

"Yes, well, Robards thinks it's a good idea for me to transfer into the DMLE. Especially since I'll be directly transferring into a higher post than normal transfers."

"Of course you are; you're the Deputy Head of the DRCMC," he said. "And why does he think so?" he added when she gave him a pointed look.

"Because then there would be someone on the inside who supports your cause."

"I'm not running a  _cause,_ Hermione—" he began, but she cut him off.

"I know, but wouldn't you feel better knowing I could help when the DMLE chooses to interfere with your decisions? And you could tell me about your top secret cases without having to make me run all around the place trying to find out the truth while breaking a whole bunch of rules in the process."

She huffed, and he rolled his eyes. For all either of them cared, Hermione's main intention in joining the DMLE was so she could tell people off for not following the rules.

"I'm actually surprised you chose to finally transfer after being with the DRCMC for so long," Harry remarked.

"Well, I did all I could in this department, I would think. Now it's time I took it up a notch and do other things that would help in the betterment of the wizarding world."

He smiled, and she gave him a look. "What?"

"Nothing, I was just thinking that I'm glad you haven't really changed."

"Well… none of us  _really_ change. We just… grow up."

Harry grinned as he raised his mug in a toast. "Here's to watching you shake up the DMLE from the roots."

Hermione returned his grin with one of her own as she clinked her mug with his. "Not too much, I hope. Wouldn't want the DMLE breaking down."

Harry laughed as she tossed her hair over her shoulder pretentiously and decided that yes, it definitely would do the wizarding world good to have Hermione Granger-Weasley in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.


	7. 7 Lies: Seeing Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the day before Lestrange's release, and Harry seems to be hallucinating, due to which he finally decides to take the much-needed step to do something about his nightmares as soon as the release was over and done with. Meanwhile, Ginny is leaving home for work and the kids are upset to bid their mum goodbye.

**Chapter 7**

**Seeing Things**

* * *

**[4 November 2011]**

**3:05 AM**

_They were screaming._

_He didn't know who they were, but they were screaming._

_The Fiendfyre swallowed everything whole, its flaming maw open wide, its serpentine form rearing and lunging and razing everything to the ground._

_The witches and wizards were running for their lives, crying for help, begging for mercy, and he wanted to save them—_ help  _them—but when he opened his mouth, all that left it was a malicious cackle. He faltered, unable to comprehend the madness that sang through his veins, unable to fathom the darkness that clung to his bones._

_Who was he?_

" _Look at them flee, my lord, like the lowly insects they are!"_

_He turned towards the high-pitched voice as it broke into maniacal laughter. The woman's wild hair and crazed expression made him sick._

_Who_ was  _he?_

_A child stumbled, tripped over a burning plank, and fell to the ground. The boy looked up, eyes wide and fearful, tears streaming down his dirt-smeared cheeks, and he felt his heart clench. He wanted to help this child. He wanted to save him. He wanted to—_

" _Avada Kedavra!"_

_The curse left his lips before he even knew it was he who had spoken the words. He watched as the light left the boy's eyes, as the green flash of the Killing Curse shimmered in those dark orbs before dying out, the child's limp body collapsing to the dirt. The air was filled with terrified screams, but even amidst the shrill cries and shrieks, he could hear the wails of the mother as she gingerly pulled her son into her arms. She threw her head back and cried to the burning heavens, cried to the pitch-black sky, but her woes went unheard._

_His body was trembling—not out of fear, not out of regret, but out of pure ecstasy. This woman's suffering was bringing him profound joy like nothing else ever had. It was pulsing through him as though it was a living being, surging through his body like pure energy. It was exalting._

_It was terrifying._

_He moved towards her, reaching out to her, making to placate her, to mollify her, but when she looked towards him, her eyes were as black as the night. The hatred that shimmered in those dark orbs reflected the fire that continued to claim hundreds of innocent lives. That hatred, it burned him more than the Fiendfyre could ever have. It scorched away his soul and left him as nothing but an empty shell._

_But then again, he was an empty shell to begin with._

_Who was he?_

" _You will die," the woman was saying, her face twisted into an ugly snarl, "you will die the most painful, brutal, pitiless death. And you will regret it. You will regret ever being born. You will regret ever having existed—"_

 _Who_ was  _he?_

"— _You will regret ever being Lord Voldemort."_

_He opened his mouth to scream, but the only thing that left it was an insane cackle, followed by a gleeful, "Avada Kedavra!"_

_He watched as the spell hit the woman in the chest. But even as she fell back, her grip on her son never loosened, and the hatred in her eyes never died out._

_They were screaming._

_He was screaming._

* * *

**11:53 AM**

"Hey, watch it!" he bellowed at the blonde who'd just run into Hermione, receiving a bewildered look from the woman as she jogged away.

"Harry, stop. I'm fine," Hermione said as they knelt down and picked up the parchment she'd dropped.

"Really,  _this_ is why I hate getting out of the office just before lunch hour," Harry groused as he got to his feet, taking the rest of the files from her arms. "Come on. I don't want someone else running into you and knocking you over  _again."_

"I wasn't looking!" Hermione flushed. She was oddly nervous for her meeting with the DMLE's top executives—much more nervous than he had expected her to be. After all, it was just a routine interview that was necessary for all those who were transferring to a higher post within the department.

She muttered something to herself, and Harry rolled his eyes as they walked briskly towards their destination: the DMLE's Head Office.

"Are you sure you have everything?" he asked Hermione for the dozenth time as he handed her the files and paperwork.

"I'm sure, Harry." She offered him a grateful smile.

He nodded. "Good. Now go show them who's boss."

She scrunched up her nose at the tacky phrase but grinned anyway as she made her way into the office. He watched till he could no longer see her and then exhaled loudly, letting his shoulders droop. He debated whether he should return to his office or hang around to wait for the verdict, then decided against the latter. This was Hermione, for Merlin's sake. There was absolutely no reason to worry that she'd do anything less than a phenomenal job.

Harry nodded to himself and made his way back to the Auror Office, feeling his stomach knot. He tried to wave it off as just the nerves of waiting for Hermione's interview to end, but he knew better than to kid himself.

Rabastan Lestrange's release was on Saturday. Today was Friday. And his nightmares were worse than ever.

He shut the door to his office and trudged over to his desk, slumping into the chair with a groan. The fact that he was about to come face to face with a Death Eater was bad enough, and now, not only did he have to make sure that  _he_ going to keep his cool, he had to make sure that Neville wasn't going to lose _his_.

In all honesty, it didn't seem like Neville was actually going to pick a fight with Lestrange, considering how resolute and resigned he had seemed about it all. Robards had managed to get a confirmation from the top brass regarding Harry's leading the security detail during the course of the release and transfer. Harry still had a feeling they had done it rather begrudgingly, and that left a bad taste in his mouth.

It didn't matter to him that people still resented him for the post he held. That was something he'd learned to deal with throughout his life. But it didn't make it any easier knowing that things had to be done in a roundabout method for him to get what was rightfully his in the first place. It was like the Headmaster refusing to give a student a gold medal just because he thought he'd received too many already.

Sighing, Harry pulled out the last bit of the day's paperwork he had left. He decided that he may as well make use of the time he had than just sit around and mope. That way, he'd be able to go home to Ginny and the kids and spend the evening with them before she left.

Dipping his quill in the pot, he flipped the sheet over and was just about to get down to business when he felt a sudden chill run down his spine. He snapped his head up, eyes scanning the room, his skin breaking out in gooseflesh.

"Stop being paranoid," he scolded himself, turning back to the parchment—although he couldn't shake off the feeling that someone was watching him.

The faster this transfer happened, the better for his state of mind.

* * *

**12:20 PM**

He had almost finished when there was a knock on the door. Guessing it was probably Buxley or one of the other Aurors, he called for them to enter without looking up from the forms he was signing.

The door was shut quietly and whoever it was made their way to his desk without announcing themselves. Finally deciding to acknowledge the person, he looked up, and had to bite his tongue to keep himself from exclaiming in surprise.

"Hello, Harry," Neville said, smiling rather sheepishly.

"Neville," Harry hissed, looking towards the door. "Why are you here?"

"Well, you asked me to meet with you on the day before the release—"

"I didn't ask you to come  _here,_ Neville!" Harry snapped, casting an Imperturbable Charm on the door.

"Oh," was Neville's reply and Harry pinched the bridge of his nose as he motioned for the other man to take a seat.

"Did you speak with anyone on the way here?"

"Oh, yeah, I bumped into a few of the lads who were on the same team as me, when I was still an Auror."

Harry bit back a sigh. "Neville," he began in a controlled voice, "you do realise this is a  _top-secret_ situation, right? The kind where nobody, except the few directly involved, knows about?"

"Of course I do." Neville frowned, and Harry had to consciously quell his irritation.

"Then  _why_ are you here, Neville? I was going to meet with you in the Leaky or something; there was no need for you to come to the Ministry—"

"So it's true, then."

Harry eyed Neville wearily, recognising the clear, knowing look in his eyes. "What?"

"They're still giving you trouble for being Head Auror," Neville said, more than asked, and Harry had to keep himself from groaning out loud.

"Yes, well, some things don't just go away, you know—"

"I know." Neville leant forwards in his seat, his eyes shining with understanding and support. It reminded Harry of the times during the war when Neville had stood by his side irrespective of what had happened. It sort of relieved him that Neville was here, although he couldn't help but be overly cautious in case anybody realised something was going on. If everything was taken into consideration, his paranoia was justified—at least as far as he was concerned.

He nodded finally and relaxed back in his seat. "Yeah. You still should've at least warned me before showing up here."

"I did send a letter. Looks like I got here before it, though," Neville reasoned.

"Looks like it…" After a long, awkward silence, Harry stood up and walked towards the coffee dispenser. "Coffee?" he asked, pouring the dark liquid into two mugs.

"Oh, yeah. Thanks."

He added some milk, swirled the liquid with his wand, muttered a Warming Spell, and carried the two mugs to the desk. He placed one before Neville and sat back in his chair, taking a long swig of the strong coffee before returning his focus to the man before him. "Alright, since you're here, we may as well get right down to business," he said, and Neville nodded. "I'm assuming you spoke to Robards?"

"I did, actually." Neville played with the handle of his mug. "Kingsley told me that Robards has been promoted to Head of the Undercover Unit—which surprised me, really, considering he'd only just decided to retire—"

Harry nodded in understanding.

"—So I met with him, and he walked me through what I was supposed to do."

Harry nodded. "So I don't have to repeat it, yeah?"

Neville shook his head. "I even wrote it all down, just in case." He scratched his chin awkwardly, and Harry couldn't help but grin.

"That's good, then." Harry signed off the last sheet of parchment and kept it to the side, placing his mug before him. "I hope I don't have to remind you that you'll only be present during the release? And you'll remain with the other unit once the transfer starts?"

Neville nodded, his jaw clenched. "Yeah, I know."

"Good." Harry watched Neville, waiting, knowing that there was something else the other man wanted to say.

"Did yours get worse, too?" Neville finally asked in a strangled sort of voice, and Harry felt his breath hitch.

_I knew it._

"Did what get worse—"

"Your nightmares."

The look in Neville's eyes was so intense that Harry knew he had no chance of getting around the question. He sighed.

"Not really," he began, and Neville leant back, his jaw set, but Harry continued before the other man could interrupt. "I mean, not in the same way as yours, I'm sure. Mine have been steadily getting worse since day one, and this… turn of events… just added to it, is all."

Neville stared at him for an uncomfortably long moment before nodding. "Have you contacted them yet?"

"Whom?"

"Antares."

For a second, Harry didn't know what Neville was talking about, and it must've shown on his face because the wizard sighed and said in an endearing voice, "The organisation I told you about, Harry."

"Ah." When Neville continued to watch him, he shook his head, trying not to look guilty when the other pursed his lips.

"Harry…"

"I haven't had the time, mate. What with this whole Lestrange business, the DMLE being a pain in the arse, Robards' sudden promotion—and Hermione's, too, as a matter of fact—I've been working overtime this whole week."

"Hermione's been promoted?" Neville looked impressed.

"Yeah, she's in a meeting-interview with the top execs right now. Actually," Harry said, checking his watch, "she might be done."

"Well, I think we're done here as well, so I can walk with you, if you want," Neville offered, standing.

"What about your coffee?"

"Er, right," Neville said distractedly, downing the mug and making a face. "Not a big fan of lukewarm coffee."

Harry grinned, coming around the desk and clapping Neville on the shoulder. "So, how's Hannah doing?"

"Oh, she's doing great, thanks. The Leaky's been really busy lately, and she's finally decided she can't run the whole pub on her own."

"About time," Harry said as they stepped out of his office. "I'm impressed that she's been holding out for this long."

"You and me both," Neville replied with a shake of his head. "What about Ginny and the kids? I heard she's covering the tournament this season?"

"Yeah, she is. She's leaving today, actually. I'm hoping I can get back early to see her off." Harry nodded to Buxley as they left the office, and the man shot Neville a look before nodding back.

"Oh, really?" Neville asked, not having seen the look Harry's deputy had given him. "What about the kids?"

"Molly's offered to look after them. Fleur's visiting with Dominique and little Louis, so they said it would be nice for the kids to spend some time with them."

"They're back from France, are they?" Neville asked, waving back to a group of Aurors who were standing a little way off.

"Yeah, got back last week. Bill's busy with work, so Fleur's spending a couple days at the Burrow."

"That's nice."

They paused a little away from the head office, each lapsing into silence as they reverted back to their own thoughts. A few minutes later, Hermione exited the office. She looked frazzled, and her hair was all over the place, but she was beaming.

"Hi." Harry laughed as she all but ran up to them and threw herself into Harry's arms. "I take it that it went well, then?"

"Oh, it was fantastic," Hermione said with a grin, pulling Neville into a hug. "Neville! So good to see you! How  _are_ you doing?"

"Not as great as you are," Neville replied with a laugh as Hermione bounced on the spot.

"Of course, of course." She looked around, as though making sure no one was listening, and then, pulling them to a corner, said, "I also got permission to help with the transfer paperwork. Isn't that wonderful?"

"Hermione…" Harry groaned, and she smacked him in the chest.

"Now, don't you whine, Harry," she scolded, huffing. "I'm doing this for you."

"That doesn't make me feel any better," he grumbled, but Hermione's focus had already shifted to Neville.

"Oh, Neville, it's been  _ages!_ You really must meet up with us more often!"

"You know I can't, Hermione. I only managed to get a few days off now because I hadn't used up any of my leave days, and now I've used them all up, so I can't take any more days off."

"Yes, but at least during the holidays." She gave him a stubborn look, and Neville turned to Harry helplessly.

"Alright, Hermione, how about we leave Neville alone for a moment and focus on  _you,"_  Harry said, in an attempt to distract her. _"_ What say we go out for lunch to celebrate?"

"Oh, yes, let's!" Hermione clapped her hands together. "I heard about this little place that I think you'd really like, Harry," she continued, dragging the two of them along.

"Yeah?" Harry shared a look with Neville as they waited for the lift. Hermione continued with her chatter, and when she turned to Neville, Harry zoned out, looking around the crowded hallways. He identified some familiar faces from different departments, smiled at a few who greeted him, but mostly just stared off into space.

He belatedly heard the ping of the lift, and he felt Hermione tap his shoulder to get his attention, but just as he was turning towards her, something caught the corner of his eye. He whipped around, heart pounding in his chest, eyes searching frantically for the hooded figure he had just spotted. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end and he had broken out in cold sweat. He began to weave through the throng of witches and wizards, all senses focused on finding the cloaked figure he was sure he had seen.

He thought he'd caught another glimpse of the cloaked form, but before he could do anything, fingers closed around his wrist, and he was forced to stop.

"Harry!" Hermione's voice rang clear through the blood pounding in his ears, and he stared at her, wide-eyed, taking in the bewildered look on her face. "Harry, are you alright? You look like you saw a ghost."

Harry looked over his shoulder one last time before turning back to Hermione. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just thought I saw someone I knew."

Hermione frowned and opened her mouth, making to say something, but Neville joined them just then, and a silent understanding passed between the two men.

"I asked Mason to hold the lift. You OK, mate?"

"I'm good. Let's go," Harry said, placing his palm on the small of Hermione's back and steering her towards the lift.

They stepped into the crowded space, and Harry backed up against the wall of the lift, revelling at the feel of the cool metal against his burning skin. He could sense Hermione's gaze on him, but he focused on calming himself down.

 _It wasn't real,_ he told himself firmly.  _It was just a hallucination. It wasn't real. There's no way a Death Eater can just walk through the Ministry scott-free. It wasn't real._

"Harry."

He glanced up to find himself staring into Neville's worried blue eyes, and forced himself to smile. "I'm fine, Neville."

Neville watched him for a moment longer before nodding. "Yeah," he said, although he didn't sound convinced.

Harry turned away, breathing deeply. The apparition—or whatever the hell it was—had shaken him up to the core. His nightmares had affected him during his waking hours before, admittedly, but this was taking things to a whole new level. The lift's enchanted voice announced their destination, and, as he stepped out of the lift, Harry decided once and for all that as soon as Lestrange's release and transfer were done with, he would write to Antares.

* * *

**5:20 PM**

"Daddy?"

"Hi, sweetheart!" Harry laughed as Lily threw herself into his arms and kissed her head as he picked her up. "All set?"

She nodded, and he grinned.

"Great! Now, where're your brothers?"

Lily shrugged as she cradled her doll in her arms and snuggled against him, laying her head against his shoulder.

"Hey," he said softly, kissing her forehead. "What's wrong?"

She mumbled a quiet 'nothing', but sniffed, rubbing her eye.

"Lils," he said, walking over to the sofa and sitting down. He sat her on his lap and tried to get her to look at him, but she clung on to him, refusing to pull away. "What's wrong, love? Did your brothers do something?" She shook her head. "Did Mummy yell at you?" She shook her head again. "Lily, you know Daddy can't help if you don't tell me what's wrong," he said gently, stroking her back and kissing her hair.

After a long moment, she mumbled something into his chest, and Harry leant down but couldn't hear her. "What's that?" he asked, and she finally pulled back, wiping her cheeks. "Lily, baby, come on, don't cry. You know Daddy hates seeing his baby cry. Come on, tell me what's upset you so much. Daddy'll fix it."

"Really?" she asked in a small voice, looking up at him with wide, brown eyes just like her mother's.

"Really," he promised.

She sniffed, drawing patterns on his chest with her finger. Harry waited patiently, knowing she would tell him when she was ready, and held her as she sniffled. Finally, she said in a voice so quiet he almost missed it, "Don't wanna go to the Burrow."

Surprised, he pulled her against him and rocked back and forth, unsure of what exactly had caused his daughter to say such a thing. The kids absolutely adored their grandparents and loved their time at the Burrow—mostly because Arthur and Molly spoiled them rotten. Arthur bought them toys every chance he got, and Molly made them all their favourite food, and it was heaven on earth for all the grandchildren.

So Harry had no idea where this was coming from.

"Why not?" he asked when he kept drawing blanks to every line of reasoning he could come up with.

Lily shook her head, snuggling against him, and he held her close, humming in the way he knew calmed her.

"Won't you tell Daddy?" He almost thought she'd shake her head again, but she pulled away, rubbing her eyes. "Lily," he whispered, pulled her hands away and kissing them. "Sweetheart, please don't cry. We don't have to go to the Burrow if you don't want to. I'll talk to Mummy and we can figure something out. OK?"

He expected that to placate her some, at least, but she only shook her head again. Frustrated by his inability to understand his own daughter, Harry wracked his brains, thinking of some way to resolve this issue whose cause he had no idea of.

"So you want to go?" he asked, and Lily shook her head.

"So you  _don't_ want to go?" he asked, and Lily shook her head again.

Gritting his teeth, he focused on calming himself. Getting irritated wasn't going to solve anything. If he wanted to figure out what the problem was, he needed to know what had triggered it in the first place. He thought back to the past week, trying to see if he remembered any time Lily had behaved oddly. If she had been crying more than usual, or throwing tantrums more than usual, or annoying her brothers more than usual. He could pick out a few incidents, but nothing that stood out.

He bit back a sigh and looked around the living room, clueless on what to do, when his eyes fell on Ginny's suitcases. A jolt ran through him, and he looked down at his daughter, watching as she fiddled with her doll.

"Lils, are you upset that Mummy's leaving?"

Lily paused, stared at her doll, and then began to cry. Alarmed, Harry cradled her to his chest, holding her and stroking her hair as he tried to pacify her.

_She's upset that her mum's leaving?_

He didn't understand it. Ginny had left home for work before—for weeks, sometimes—and although the kids missed her and asked for her, they usually never seemed all that upset by it. So he didn't understand why it was that Ginny leaving this time was making Lily cry so much.

"Sweetheart, please," he begged, his voice breaking. He hated to see his little girl cry. It broke his heart. "Baby, please, come on, don't cry. You know Mummy has to go to work. You've always been OK with it, right?"

Lily shook her head, and he felt a boulder-sized lump settle in his throat. So he'd been wrong all along. Some dad he was.

"Lils," Harry said softly, pulling her away and wiping her cheeks. "Here." Rummaging in his coat, he pulled out a toffee he'd picked up from the restaurant they'd eaten lunch at.

She eyed the toffee for a long moment before she finally took it. She unwrapped it and plopped it in her mouth, sniffling as she laid her cheek against his chest.

He sat there, stroking her hair and humming softly, till Ginny bustled into the room, the boys following close behind. It took her a moment to notice him and Lily because she was busy rummaging in her bag and relaying instructions to their sons, but when she did, her eyes widened and a somewhat pained expression crossed her face.

"Is she asleep?" Ginny asked, and Harry nodded. She walked up to the sofa and gently stroked Lily's hair. "She finally stopped crying."

He felt his heart thud in his chest. "She's been crying?"

Ginny nodded. "She came into our room, last night, before you got home, in tears. It took me a long time to put her to sleep. She hasn't been talking much all day." Ginny shook her head and swallowed. "I wouldn't have gone if I knew…"

"Hey, come on, don't say that. Listen, how about we take them over to your parents' place and spend the night? I'll tell Angie I'll drop you off at the station tomorrow."

She nodded, caressing Lily's cheek. "Yeah." Ginny turned as Albus came and hugged her from behind. "Hey..." She ruffled his hair as he stared at the floor, his mouth puckered in a sad little pout. "Don't tell me big brother Al's going to cry, too?"

"Won't cry," he said stubbornly, although he sniffed. James came up and clapped Albus on the shoulder, giving Ginny a weird half-smile, half-grimace.

"Boys don't cry," he declared, and both Harry and Ginny chuckled. Harry pulled out the rest of the toffees and held them out, smiling as his sons cheered and snatched them from his hand.

It took them a while to bundle the boys into the Floo with Ginny, and Harry waited till the smoke settled to step in, making sure he didn't knock Lily's head against the mantle. He looked around the living room one last time, and kissed his daughter's hair, before throwing down the Floo powder.


	8. 8 Lies: Rabastan Lestrange

**Chapter 8**

**Rabastan Lestrange**

* * *

**[5 November 2011]**

**6:06 AM**

"Alright, looks like I've got everything."

He nodded, pulling Ginny close and kissing her. "I'll miss you," he said as they moved apart, and she gave him a sad little smile.

"You're making this harder for me, you know," she said in a teasing voice, although her brown eyes seemed suspiciously moist.

"Right, sorry." He cleared his throat as he shut the car's door. "You OK? Or do you want me to go with you till the train?"

"I'm  _fine,_ Harry. This isn't the first time I'm travelling. Besides—" she jangled her purse, grinning. "Hermione's bags are extremely useful. I'm barely carrying any luggage."

"The charm wears off after a while, so make sure to keep recasting it," he reminded her as he tucked a strand of her ginger locks behind her pale ear.

"I know, sweetheart." She kissed him. "And I promise to leave you a message as soon as I reach."

"Yeah."

She hugged him one last time before walking away, looking over her shoulder and waving when she reached the corner. He waved back before stuffing his hands in his pockets, watching the place where she'd disappeared for a long moment before getting into the car.

He drove past the groups of people milling around outside the station: families, friends, couples. He couldn't help but feel oddly bitter about it all. He knew that this time Ginny would only be gone for about two weeks, and that she would try coming home whenever she had time to spare between matches, but he couldn't help the emptiness that settled within him.

Ginny didn't know about Lestrange's release because he hadn't told her. All she knew was that something important was happening that day, which was why he couldn't be home with the kids. He didn't blame her—he'd been the one to keep it a secret, after all. But what with the stress of him leading the security detail, the pressure from the higher-ups, and his worsening nightmares, it would've made him feel exponentially better if he knew he'd be returning home to her and the kids' laughing faces.

He desperately needed to spend time with Ginny and the kids to wash off the terrible feeling that was slowly accumulating in and around him. It was suffocating him, and he had no way of fighting it off except by putting on a brave face. He envied Neville, just then, for having Hannah to go back home to, and almost regretted doing this for his sake, but he caught himself before he went down that path.

Neville needed this more than anybody else, he knew. The man deserved what little peace of mind this whole experience would get him, and if Harry could help, he would do it without being asked twice. Neville was someone who had gone through so much because of and for Harry—he couldn't even begin to imagine what sort of nightmares he'd had when he thought of all the torture Neville had been put through.

That thought didn't help placate him in the least, but it did manage to give him a sense of fortitude that would keep him going for the rest of the day.

As he drove, his mind was so full of thoughts about Ginny and the kids, of whether they'd be alright, of whether Neville would be alright, of whether the transfer would happen smoothly, that he almost drove right past his house.

* * *

**7:30 AM**

He nodded to Kingsley as he saw the man approach him, ending the conversation with the Aurors he was talking to and sending them off.

"Harry," Kingsley greeted him, shaking his hand.

"Kingsley," he replied, nodding.

"I hope you know what you're doing." Kingsley's eyes had a familiar, knowing glint in them.

Harry offered the wizard a grim smile. "I hope so, too."

Kingsley began to say something, but Hermione bustled over just then. She flipped through the files in her arms, handing over two to Harry and Kingsley, and finally looked from one man to the other.

"Robards asked me to give these to you. He and the team are ready for you, Harry," she said in a clipped voice, and Harry sensed her anxiety.

He gave her a reassuring smile and nodded, touching her arm to comfort her. She relaxed some, but he could still feel the nervousness emanating from her.

"Well, I wouldn't want to delay you." Kingsley nodded at the two of them before glancing Harry's way. "Walk with me, Harry?"

Harry shared a look with Hermione and then jerked his chin towards his office. She nodded and bustled off, muttering to herself.

"She appears to be quite anxious," Kingsley commented as he watched Hermione disappear into Harry's office.

"Well, considering it was your idea to have her take on the paperwork…" Harry trailed off, falling into step beside the Minister.

Kingsley bowed his head slightly, and Harry shook his head. "I really don't understand your motives sometimes."

"I prefer it that way," Kingsley replied, motioning for Harry to step into the empty lift. "So, Robards has reassured me that everything is going according to plan and that the DMLE's top brass have high expectations for you."

"I was hoping you wouldn't say that." Harry sighed.

"You got what you asked for, Harry, so don't complain about it."

"I'm not complaining," he grumbled, suddenly realising that Kingsley hadn't pressed any of the buttons.

"Good. Well, I shall be getting timely reports from Robards regarding the situation, and I hope you remember—" He watched Harry in a way that seemed oddly reminiscent of Dumbledore, "—although you're leading the security detail, Robards is still in charge of this operation."

"I know that," Harry said, sounding a little more defensive than he had intended, and Kingsley nodded.

"That's good." He reached out and tapped the button that opened the lift's doors, and just as he stepped out, he called, "Don't be a hero, Potter."

Harry rolled his eyes as he watched Kingsley's glistening purple robes disappear around a corner. He was about to close the lift's doors when Hermione came running towards him. She made it just as they shut and exhaled loudly, putting her hands on her knees.

"I thought I told you to wait in my office," Harry said as he watched her catch her breath.

"Yes, well, I wasn't about to just let you leave without saying anything. I see I was right in knowing you would." She gave him a dirty look, and he rolled his eyes.

"It's exactly because I knew you'd say stuff like ' _leave without saying anything'_ that I was gonna  _leave without saying anything,"_ he told her as he leant back against the cool metallic wall of the lift. She huffed and glowered at him, and he couldn't help but snort at that. "Hermione, for heaven's sake, it's not like I'm going off to war or something."

"Don't even joke about that," she snapped, and he winced.

"Right, sorry."

"So, where's Neville?"

"With Robards and the rest. Couldn't have him traipsing around here and arousing suspicion."

Hermione nodded as she straightened her skirt. The enchanted voice announced their destination, and she turned to him. "Right, then."

She hugged him quickly before the doors opened and all but ran out, leaving him staring after her with his arms still hovering in mid-air. Shaking his head, he strode out, adjusting his cloak and feeling for his wand up his sleeve. Nodding to himself, he pulled on the hood of his cloak and exited the Ministry.

* * *

**8:23 AM**

"—and that's all there is to it."

Harry and Neville nodded as Robards' face glared at them from the other side of the phone's screen. The older wizard grunted, shaking his head. "You lot can't stay out of trouble for one minute, can you?"

They grinned sheepishly, and Harry cut the call, suddenly reminded of the picture of him and McGonagall, and her words on the back of it.

" _P.S. I pray that, for once in your bloody life, Potter, you stay out of trouble. But not for too long, I daresay that would do the world more harm than good."_

He scoffed, unable to remove the image of a smug McGonagall from his mind.

"Sorry that I got you dragged into this," Neville leant towards him to whisper, and Harry shot him a look.

"I swear, Neville, if you start giving me a speech with apologies or telling me how grateful you are, I'll chuck you out of this truck right now."

Neville pulled a face but nodded anyway. "I'll keep that in mind."

"You'd better." Harry picked up the file Hermione had handed him. He flipped through it, scanning the floor plans of Azkaban, the structure of the remodelled boat—whose interiors had been hollowed out and reinforced with enchanted metal—being used to transport them to and from the island the prison was on, the notes he had made regarding the unit's shifts, and other things she'd printed out.

He went through all of his instructions, the placing of each of the Aurors and Hit-Wizards, and Neville, the maximum and minimum time allotted for each phase of the release and transfer, and all the precautionary measures, including the extra ones he'd jotted down in case of an emergency.

_Let's just hope there's no need for any of these,_ he thought grimly as he eyed his side-note of ' _Keep subject in sight at all times. Prepare to move at the slightest sign of trouble. Don't hesitate to engage.'_

He felt the truck jerk to a stop and he, along with the rest of his team, waited with bated breath as the back door of the truck slowly creaked open to reveal Robards' pale face.

"Alright, men, it's time to move out."

Harry jumped out first, followed closely by Neville and the rest, and they made their way to the small jetty in two lines. Robards pulled him aside as the men started boarding the boats.

"We good?" he asked, his grip on Harry's shoulder tightening.

"We are, sir."

Robards eyed him for a long moment before nodding. "Whatever it is you and your little friend have planned, it better not get in the way of this operation, or  _all_ our heads are on the spike."

Harry nodded vigorously, his heart pounding in his chest. It had been a while since Robards had ordered him around, and he remembered, now, why he'd been so nervous around the man. Robards was more intimidating than Kingsley was, and that was saying something.

"Thank you, sir," Harry called as Robards began to walk away, but the constantly unhappy-looking wizard only looked over his shoulder and scoffed.

"Don't you think, even for one second, that I did this for your sake _."_

_Well, good to see he hasn't changed a bit even after his supposed retirement._

"Yessir!"

Harry turned back to his unit as Robards started relaying instructions to the Hit-Wizards.

"All aboard?" he called as he stepped into the hollow, metal interior and nodded for the anchor to be raised.

"Yessir!" came the united reply.

_Let's do this._

"All of you have been given a standard set of instructions that need to be followed throughout the course of this operation," Harry began, crossing his hands behind his back and striding down the length of the boat. "These instructions are to be followed to the last letter, and I don't want to see even a hair out of place. Am I clear?"

"Yessir!"

"Lestrange will be escorted by our platoon, so remember,  _constant vigilance!"_

" _Yessir!"_

He nodded and turned away, allowing his men to go about preparing for the transfer. Neville walked up to him, and he looked like he would be sick.

"Don't use the bags, lean over the rail. You know the drill." Harry sat down on a crate and began checking off names on the list included in the file Hermione had given him.

"I've got to say, you've assimilated into your post rather well, haven't you?"

Harry glanced up at Neville's grinning face and grunted.

"I'll say. You didn't think they made me Head because of my looks, did you?"

"Blimey, Harry, you've even started to _sound_ like Mad-Eye." Harry grimaced, shooting Neville a dirty look and receiving a chuckle in turn. "That's better. You're far too tense, mate. It isn't like we're off to war or something."

Harry snorted. "Don't let Hermione hear you say that."

Someone called for him, just then, and he nodded to Neville. "Now's the only time for you to give yourself a pep talk, Nev. Make sure you're ready for what's coming up."

"Right," Neville said, taking a deep breath. "See you when we dock, sir."

Harry grinned as Neville saluted smartly and strode off, his head held high.

_He makes me forget that he was a war hero and a trained Auror, too, sometimes._

Motioning for the Auror who'd been waiting to speak to him, he listened intently as the wizard began to give him a rundown of the preparations.

* * *

**12:35 PM**

He munched on his fifth Muggle energy bar, that he'd picked up in London before Apparating to Whitby, as he sent off his final half-hourly report to Robards. The boats would reach Azkaban any minute, now, and he needed to be at the top of his game. He'd barely slept a wink for days, he'd even been hallucinating and was nervous as hell, and he couldn't afford to be hungry on top of all that.

"Sir, we're here."

He nodded as he got to his feet and moved to the front of the boat, peering out the porthole and squinting as he caught sight of the towering structure that was the penitentiary.

"Azkaban Prison," he muttered, feeling his stomach churn.

He'd only been ever been to Azkaban a few times: the first time had been to drop off the last set of prisoners after the war and pick up the bodies to be handed over to the families, and the last time was during his exam for the post of Head Auror. He'd almost thought he'd failed, at that stage, but had apparently done far better than the rest of the examinees—much to the surprise, and dismay, of a lot of people.

"Alright, you lot. Get ready," he called as the boat began to manoeuvre into the narrow jetty. There was scrambling as a set of Aurors climbed onto the deck in order to help moor the boat. The vessel groaned as ten-foot tall waves crashed against it, and he swore as there were several shouts followed by splashes.

"Be careful, you idiots!" Harry bellowed as he clambered onto the deck, just in time to grab one of the younger Aurors by the back of his uniform and haul him onto the boat. "This is why I told you to memorise the precautionary measures! Grab the bloody railings and get on the footholds!"

"Yes, sir! Sorry, sir!" the lad yelled, getting to his feet and running towards where the rest were trying to steady the anchor, slipping and almost falling over in the process.

Harry ran a hand down his face and swore loudly. Sometimes he wondered if his lot purposely ignored instructions just to drive him up the wall.

"Marshall!" he barked as one of his fellow Aurors jumped off the boat and climbed down the anchor. "Wait till we reach the pier, damnit!"

The man yelled something back, but a wave crashed into the boat again, and they all leaned over the railing, waiting with bated breath to see if Marshall was still hanging onto the anchor. When his mop of brown hair came into sight, everyone cheered, and Harry shook his head.

"This lot'll be the death of me," he muttered as he looked up and found Robards glaring at him.  _Fantastic, now I've got the bulldog on my tail, too._

He strode towards the front, barking instructions, and grabbing onto the railing as the boat teetered. Conjuring ropes, he, and a few other Aurors, threw them to where Robards' team was waiting, and after a lot of yelling and screaming and falling over, the boat was finally moored, and everyone was ashore.

"Never again," he groaned as Neville tossed him a towel with a sympathetic smile.

"Warm yourself up, or you'll catch your death of cold!" Robards was hollering a little way off, smacking one of the younger Aurors on the back.

Harry grunted as he pulled off his coat and uniform jacket, turning in a slow circle as Neville, and a few others, helped warm the wet Aurors.

"How's Lestrange doing?" Harry asked when Robards passed by, earning a scathing look from the older wizard.

"He must've died, already, with the amount of time you lot are taking."

Neville snorted as he handed Harry his clothes—now warm and slightly crumpled—and shook his head. "Remind me again why I left the force," he said softly as Robards continued barking orders to everyone.

"Still looking for an assistant professor?" Harry joked as they watched Robards tell off a group of his own men for laughing.

"Don't make me choose between Robards and teaching children between eleven to seventeen all year round," Neville grumbled, and Harry laughed.

"Tough luck, mate." Harry clapped Neville on the back. He pulled his coat on, smoothed down his hair, and walked up to where his unit was waiting for him.

"Alright, you know what you've got to do," he said, nodding to them. "And this time, be sure to follow the bloody instructions _."_

"Yessir!"

Neville came to stand beside him, and Harry jerked his chin towards the entrance of the prison—which was a space so dark, it reminded him of a black hole. It was an apt comparison, in all honesty, considering the plight of the convicted once they stepped in through the entrance.

"He'll be out soon," Harry said, and Neville nodded.

"Any chance I'll get to speak with him?" When Harry shot him an incredulous look, Neville held his hands up and nodded. "Thought as much."

"Oi, Longbottom!" Robards bellowed, and Neville started, looking around as though there was someone else by the same name, and then pointing at himself. "Yeah, you! Do you see any other pansy idiots around here?"

Harry snorted as Neville went red in the face. "Still think teaching a bunch of brats is worse?" Harry whispered, and Neville shot him a look.

"I will raise the lot of them as my own before I return to the force."

Harry grinned as he watched Neville jog off. For all the brain and brawn the man had gained since the war, in the face of Robards, he was still reduced to the blustering boy he used to be back during their time at Hogwarts.

_We all are,_ Harry thought as Robards waved him over.

"Sir?"

"Longbottom here's gonna be helping with the transfer," Robards said, jerking his chin towards Neville. "I don't trust those idiots from your platoon that fell overboard. Can't even dock a bloody boat and they wanna escort a convicted prisoner."

"The Minister said—"

"The Minister can talk to my arse," Robards interrupted, turning away and yelling for everyone to take their positions.

"See if he'll repeat that when we're less than half an ocean away from the Minister," Neville muttered from the corner of his mouth, and Harry whacked him on the back.

"Don't start, mate." He nodded towards the entrance as a set of chains clanked loudly. "Here he comes."

They watched with bated breath as the first set of guards arrived, all of them grim-faced and pale as death. Then came a pair of guards carrying heavy chains, followed by a thin, malnourished, sunken-looking man, tufts of stringy hair hanging limply down his face. He shuffled forward and seemed to be moving only because the guards behind him constantly prodded and pushed him.

His wrists and ankles were bound by chains reinforced by condensed magic, almost making Harry feel sick when they passed by him. The rags he wore were filthy, as was the rest of him, and he was more bone than flesh. He looked like some of the rescued victims of human trafficking Harry remembered seeing in a documentary years ago. They'd looked so pathetic and pitiful that death seemed like a better evil than forcing them to live.

He watched as the small procession slowly made its way to where Robards and a group of Hit-Wizards were standing. Everyone tensed when the guards removed the chains from the prisoner's wrists and ankles, as though the half-dead man could be any more dangerous than the sea slugs clinging to the dank walls.

" _That's_ Lestrange?" someone whispered from behind Harry, and he shared a look with Neville as they made their way to the jetty.

He almost felt foolish for losing sleep over the man before him. If he had been having nightmares because of this man, who barely seemed to be clinging onto life and sanity, then he couldn't imagine what sort of torture the former Death Eater had to face within the walls of the formidable prison. Harry thanked the heavens that Dementors no longer guarded the penitentiary. This level of cruelty, even for a murderer, was  _wrong_. It made the bile rise to his throat and made him want to scream and pull his hair out.

He would've preferred if Rabastan Lestrange had remained true to his former title—a Death Eater feared by all—than the sunken man, reduced to the state of a frightened, lifeless being whom one could only sympathise with. He felt no fear for this man. He felt no anger towards this man. All he felt was immense pity.

* * *

**5:30 PM**

"He looks even worse than when I went to visit him," Neville said in a low voice as they followed close behind the group of Aurors escorting Lestrange.

They had just left the trucks in the parking lot of the North York Moors National Park and were currently making their way to the safehouse—originally a rundown building where the Muggles used to store grain—where Lestrange would spend the last of his days.

"At least he'll be able to spend the rest of his days in peace." Harry watched two Aurors help Lestrange climb over a small boulder.

"Yeah," Neville mumbled, and Harry sighed.

This was not what he had expected. He had expected to be able to gain some peace of mind, after seeing the relief and life in Lestrange's eyes. He had even been deluded into thinking that the former Death Eater would have been grateful for his pardon, but of all the many scenarios Harry had concocted in his head ever since learning about Lestrange's release, this was most definitely not one of them.

Just then, Lestrange tripped and went sprawling across the ground, and for the first time since leaving Azkaban, a sound left his mouth—and it was the sound of a frightened, wounded animal. It made Harry's blood run cold, and he had to force himself to breathe deeply to keep from being ill. Neville didn't seem to be in any better a state than him, and one or two Aurors actually threw up to the side.

"This is…" Neville shook his head, having gone completely pale, and they watched as the Aurors gingerly helped Lestrange to his feet, exchanging looks of confusion, their disconcert clear in their expressions.

"We're almost there." Harry cleared his throat, and they continued on their slow trek through the moors, shivering from the November wind that nipped at their exposed necks.

"Don't you think he's cold?" Nevile asked after a time, when Lestrange shuddered, and Harry shrugged.

"I think he may have gotten past feeling things as mundane as the cold."

Neville nodded, looking stricken, and they continued on their journey, stopping every now and then when Lestrange began to heave.

"Can't we just carry him, sir?" the lad he'd saved from going overboard asked, and Harry shook his head.

"We could, but…"  _There's no way anybody would be willing to. Pitiful or not, this man murdered hundreds of innocent people and was part of Voldemort's inner circle._

The boy nodded and moved away, and an Auror from the group escorting Lestrange jogged up to him.

"Sir, shift change."

Harry nodded, motioning for the group behind him to swap places with the group around Lestrange. They paused for only a minute, just so the two groups could switch positions, but those sixty seconds happened as though in slow motion, allowing him to recollect everything that occurred as though he had paused time.

Three shots rang out, followed by multiple shouts. An Auror beside Lestrange fell to his knees, and the Auror directly in front of him also crumpled to the ground—along with Lestrange.

"Secure the perimeter!" Harry shouted, taking off towards the source of the shots in an instant. Half a dozen Aurors were at his heel, and they split up as they reached the line of trees.

All senses alert and focused on finding the perpetrator, he pulled his wand out and muttered tracking spells, casting them in different directions. His ears were ringing and blood was pounding through his veins. This wasn't supposed to have happened. No one was supposed to have known about the transfer. Nobody was supposed to have known of this location. They had taken all the necessary precautions. This wasn't supposed to have happened.

_Unless…_

He whipped his phone out from inside his coat, barely pausing in his searching, and clicked on the speed-dial button. The call took a few moments to connect, considering his location and the magic flying around, and Robards' voice crackled on.

"—tter?"

"We've been ambushed. Locating perpetrator. Put all personnel on lockdown."

"—at?"

"Shite," he swore, as he repeated his message, only to receive more crackling in reply.

"Screw this.  _Expecto Patronum!"_

The stag bounded out of his wand, and Harry only paused to relay his message to it before taking off. There was a shout from behind, and he whipped around, running towards the sound, but even as he cleared the line of trees and saw his men tackle a man to the ground, he knew it was too late.

He barely glanced in the direction of the screaming shooter as he made his way towards where Neville was on his knees, trying to resuscitate Lestrange, who lay in a pool of his own blood.

"Neville—"

"Get—help—now," Neville gasped as he continued administering CPR, but Harry knew the man couldn't be helped.

"Neville," he urged again, trying to pull his friend off of the dying wizard, but Neville wouldn't relent. "Mate, it's too late."

"No!" Neville yelled adamantly, continuing with his ministrations, a panicked expression on his face. "Let me—save him—let me—"

"Neville!" Harry yelled, forcefully prying him away. "Calm down!"

"No… let me—let me—"

Harry nodded towards the medic and let him check Lestrange's pulse and wound. After a few moments, the wizard shook his head. Harry sighed.

"Neville, listen to me," he said quietly as he gripped his friend by the shoulder. "You said you wanted to speak with him, yeah?"

Neville nodded, a haunted look in his eyes.

"Then now's your chance, mate. Now's your only chance. Tell him whatever you wanted to."

Neville stared at Harry as though he thought it was a joke, and when Harry offered him a small smile, he sat up on his knees and leaned forwards.

Harry watched as Lestrange's hooded eyes slowly turned to the two of them, those empty, soulless orbs sending a chill down his spine at the hopelessness in them. This was a man who had given up on life. This was a man who didn't know the meaning of  _hope_ anymore. This was a man who  _wanted_ to die. And Harry's heart broke as he stared into those dark eyes completely devoid of life.

"Rabastan Lestrange." Neville's voice was clipped. "Do you know who I am?"

When Lestrange only continued to stare, showing no sign of recognition, Neville shifted and continued. "I'm Neville Longbottom. Son of Frank and Alice Longbottom. Do you remember them?"

Again, no recognition in his eyes. Neville ploughed on. "You were one of the Death Eaters that helped torture them into insanity. You were one of the Death Eaters who destroyed a boy's childhood and shattered his dreams. Do you remember that?"

Something seemed to flicker from deep within Lestrange's eyes, and Harry wanted to think it was regret or guilt, or even simple recognition, but it was probably just the last of his life dying out. He glanced sideways at Neville, taking in the pale-faced, stricken blond who reminded him of the frightened boy from so many years ago. He could almost hear young Neville scream " _Go to hell!"_ and knew that it was only a matter of moments till the older Neville did the same.

But, to his, and everyone's, extreme shock and surprise, Neville settled back on his heels and cracked a smile, which looked more like a grimace, but it was an attempt, nonetheless. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, inhaling deeply. Opening his eyes so their clear, iridescent blue shone as the rays of the setting sun caught them, he whispered in a voice that was clearer and surer than Harry had ever heard it.

"I forgive you."

Dumbstruck, and completely nonplussed, Harry slowly turned to look down at Lestrange, watching in disbelief as a single, clear teardrop escaped from the corner of his eye. And as they watched, Lestrange's eyes slipped shut, and he lay unmoving.

Everyone sat staring at the former Death Eater's body, stunned and unable to believe what they had just witnessed, till Robards' gruff voice echoed through the quiet moor.

Harry rose to his feet shakily, noting that Neville did the same out of the corner of his eyes, and cleared his throat.

"Transfigure something into a body bag. We're taking him back."

He turned to Neville, who stood staring at the dead man as though transfixed, and touched his arm. "What would you like to do with the body?"

Neville shrugged and shook his head, his eyes still wide and clear. "Cremate it," he mumbled, and Harry nodded.

Someone asked him what to do with the body bag, and he instructed the Aurors to carry it back to the truck. "We'll take him back and cremate him."

They slowly dispersed, the only sound coming from Robards bellowing instructions, and the perpetrator—who turned out to be a Muggleborn Auror who had been recruited in the last minute—screamed that he had finally brought justice to the countless Muggles and Muggleborns who had died painful deaths at the hands of the Lestranges.

"Justice is such a fickle thing, isn't it?" Neville said as they climbed onto the truck.

Harry stared at his feet as he slowly let that thought settle in his mind.

_Yes. Yes, it is._


	9. 9 Lies: Desperation

**Trigger Warning: Certain content in this chapter may be triggering. Read at your own discretion.**

* * *

**Chapter 9**

**Desperation**

* * *

**[5 November 2011]**

**9:14 PM**

"Here."

Harry glanced up at the cup of sweet-smelling tea Hermione held out to him and slowly took it, staring at the dark liquid as it swirled inside the mug. He carefully brought it to his lips and sipped, sighing as the warmth flowed through him. He watched as, across from him, Neville sat back in his chair and sighed, looking exhausted.

Hermione came to stand beside Harry and placed a hand on his shoulder, gently massaging it. He leant into the touch, focusing all his senses on her warm palm, and tried to ignore the cold that clung to him.

"I heard you cremated him," Hermione whispered softly so only he would hear, and Harry nodded, sighing.

"Yeah. Seemed like the right thing to do."

"It was. I'm proud of you, Harry."

He looked up to see the soft smile on her face and her shimmering brown eyes, and felt himself relax. That's right. He'd done what he had meant to do. He'd put to rest a past that wouldn't leave him alone. It had finally ended. A part of him could finally relax now that Rabastan Lestrange had passed on peacefully.

At least, as peacefully as a depressed, mentally tortured, emotionally deprived, lifeless man who was shot to death, could.

He groaned, taking his head in his hands. "I'll bet the top brass are having a gala of a time at my expense."

"They are, actually," Hermione said, and Harry threw her a look. "Having a gala of a time, I mean," she continued quickly. "But not at your expense."

"Thanks for trying," he mumbled into his hands, but Hermione only hummed thoughtfully.

"I think they're rather happy with how things worked out."

He shook his head. "I will never understand them."

She nodded in understanding. "I think it's better off that way, anyway."

"Er…"

The two of them looked up to see Neville slowly rise to his feet. "I think I'm gonna give them my statement and then take my leave."

Harry nodded, getting up and moving around the desk to clap Neville on the back. "Take care of yourself, mate."

Neville smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes, and they watched as he trudged out the door.

"I hope they don't give him too much trouble." Harry sighed as he walked towards the sofa and slumped down onto it.

"They won't. Robards and Kingsley are already handling it."

"Everyone always seems to be cleaning up my messes after me," Harry mumbled into his hands as Hermione came to sit beside him.

"You know that's not true, Harry. You couldn't have anticipated what happened. You did what you had to do and you did it to the best of your abilities. Even  _Robards_ was shocked about the whole thing."

"Really?" he asked, looking at her through heavily lidded eyes.

She nodded and offered him a reassuring smile. "And, although Kingsley had you believe otherwise, Robards was appointed as head of the undercover unit mostly because he offered to take the post. Your week off was just a convenient time for his promotion."

"I know." Harry sighed, shaking his head.

Hermione reached out and squeezed his arm reassuringly. "It's a good thing he did what he did because it kept you on guard and you made sure not to do anything unnecessary. Neville told me you even yelled at him for coming to see you at your office, yesterday."

"Speaking of Neville," Harry said, "did you hear about what he did?"

Hermione stared ahead for a long moment, and Harry wondered what was going on in that brilliant mind of hers. When she turned to look at him, her eyes were moist and her lower lip trembled as she opened her mouth to speak.

"I… I could never have done—what he did. I would never have had the courage to look into the eyes of a murderer, to be reminded that he was the man who ruined my family's, and so many others', lives, and then tell him that I forgave him so that he could die in peace. I could never do that."

Harry nodded, staring at his hands. "Even I wouldn't have been able to forgive him, if I were in Neville's place. I may have just said it, just for my own peace of mind and because it may have been the right thing to say, but I never would've forgiven him  _completely._ "

"No one can ever forgive someone completely, Harry. That's what makes us human. We may get past something or learn to forget and move on, but we never completely forgive."

"Justice is such a fickle thing, isn't it?" he whispered to himself, repeating Neville's words. Hermione rested her head against his shoulder and looped an arm through his.

"I wonder how he feels," she murmured. "Neville, I mean."

"Yeah… I wonder…"

She hummed softly, and he leant his cheek against her head, sighing as he let his eyes slip shut.

They stayed like that for a long time, simply revelling in the warmth and company of each other, and, for once, Harry felt at peace. He felt as though he could finally get past his nightmares, as if he could finally let them go and move on. He wanted that peace to last for a long, long time, but just as the thought crossed his mind, there was a sharp rap on the door.

"Boss?" Buxley's voice called as the door was slowly pushed open, effectively ending the moment of solitude. Harry turned to Hermione, noticed she'd fallen sleep, and pressing his lips to her hair, carefully extricated his arm from her grasp.

"'Mione, time to get back to work." He shook her awake gently, and she sighed, opening her eyes and nodding.

"Work come first, sleep comes last," she muttered as she straightened her skirt and tied up her hair.

"As always," Harry replied as Buxley stepped aside and allowed Hermione to leave the office. "Do they want my statement, now?" Harry yawned and Buxley nodded. "Are they in the conference room?"

He nodded again.

"Well, that's not too bad, then. I can probably still make it home by midnight."

"They want a full report on all events that transpired, starting from you leaving the Ministry till you returned, sir. In writing."

Harry groaned loudly, and Buxley offered him a sympathetic look. "I could stay back and help…"

"That would be fantastic, thanks." He clapped the man on the shoulder. "Tell the rest of the squad that if they stay overtime, lunch is on me tomorrow," he called as he made his way out of the Auror Office and towards the DMLE's head office.

He heard his colleagues cheer as he pulled the door shut and smiled to himself. Thank Merlin for small mercies.

* * *

**[6 November 2011]**

_He was running. He didn't know where or from what, but, as he ran, he could feel fear replace every other rational thought. His heart was thundering in his chest, he could barely breathe, his knees were creaking, and the muscles in his legs were burning, but he kept running. At some point, he realised he may have run far enough, and slowly, tentatively, looked over his shoulder._

_There was a bloodcurdling scream as the skeletal form of a man lunged at him. The lower half of his body was in the maw of a humongous serpent, and the man—or whatever the hell it was—was shouting for help, begging for mercy. He screamed as the serpent's eyes turned towards him and continued to run, stumbling as he quickened his pace._

_If he stopped, the serpent would catch him. If he faltered, it would swallow him whole in the same way it was the skeletal man. So he continued to run._

_The ground became rocky, as he made his way through the darkness, and he tripped, sprawling across it. He could hear the snake slithering close. He could hear the stones shatter beneath its enormous form. Pulling himself to his feet, he struggled forwards, refusing to listen to his exhausted mind and body._

_He didn't want to be eaten alive. He didn't want to die._

_There was a sudden crash, and he jerked to his side just as a humongous wave cascaded down over him. Flailing, he swam to the surface and gasped for breath, coughing and spluttering as the air burned his lungs. There were screams from above, and he looked up at a tall, looming building that stood in the middle of the black sea. He watched as people threw themselves from the windows carved into the stone, screaming as they plummeted to their deaths._

_They knew they would die if they jumped, yet they continued to fling themselves from the tower. What horrors had they had to face within that would cause them to choose to jump into the unremitting undulations of the ocean, to their imminent death?_

_Something latched onto his shoulder, and he looked back, only to come face to face with the skeletal form he'd seen being eaten by the snake. He screamed, trying to get away, but the waves tossed him around as they pleased, and the bony fingers digging into his shoulders didn't seem to want to let him escape._

" _Where is the justice?" a hoarse, animal-like voice wailed, and he struggled to get away from the undead man. "Where is the justice, I say!"_

" _I don't know!" he gasped, trying to remain afloat while simultaneously attempting to escape the madman. What did he want from him? There was no justice that could save him!_

" _Justice is just a fickle thing, isn't it?" the creature hissed, and he shuddered as its bony appendages circled his throat. "So fickle! So cruel! So merciless! Toss them into prison! Rid them of their humanity! Glean away their sanity! And then release them back into the world instead of allowing them to die in peace! Where is the justice?"_

" _I—I don't know!" he cried again, struggling as the grip around his throat tightened. "I don't know, please!"_

" _Why! Why must I heed your pleas when none heeded mine? Who was there to hear me when I was forced down a path of darkness? Who was there to save me when I wanted to escape the madness? Who! Where was the justice, eh? Where was it?"_

" _I don't know! Please, I don't know, I don't know!" he choked out, straining against the suffocating hold, trying to pull away from the fingers strangling him._

" _Then you will die with me!" the undead being shrieked, crushing his windpipe. He choked and gagged, his eyes rolling back in his head, his tongue lolling out of his mouth._

_It hurt. He couldn't breathe. He was going to die._

_He couldn't breathe. He was going to die._

_He was going to die._

* * *

**3:42 AM**

He woke up screaming for mercy, legs flailing and hands clutching his throat. Spluttering and sobbing, he jumped out of bed and crawled to the corner of the room. He pressed his back against the cool wall and heaved, throwing up all over himself. Sobbing and gagging, his eyes frantically searched the room, tears streaming down his face, and he swore he could hear the cackling of a madman.

He could see the hooded forms of Death Eaters with every movement of the curtains, and he could smell the burning of rotten flesh with every painful gasp of breath. He could feel an incessant itch just below his skin, and he wanted to tear himself up before putting himself back together again.

Screaming, he tugged at his hair, unable to bear the sight of those lifeless eyes and the sound of the shrill laughter. He should have died. That monster should have killed him.

He couldn't—he didn't—

Where was he?

What was he doing? Who was he with?

_The kids…_

It took him a moment to realise that he was at home, all alone, with no one to hear his screams or comfort his frenzied self.

There was no one. He was all alone.

" _You will die with me!"_

A flash of red eyes and limp hair, the feel of skeletal fingers against his throat, the smell of rotting flesh…

He was going mad. He was losing his mind.

He couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't live like this anymore.

"They were supposed to stop!" he screamed, tugging at his hair, barely feeling the sharp pain as he tore the hair out from the roots. "They were supposed to stop, I was supposed to be free!"

" _Where is the justice?"_

He threw his head back and howled, loud and hoarse, sounding like an animal in pain. When he opened his eyes, he only saw a face whose decaying flesh slipped from its bony form. When he dropped his hands from his ears, he only heard the screams for help or the wails of the dead. When he stopped scratching his arms and legs, he only felt the invisible snakes crawling under his skin.

The voices didn't go away.

The screams didn't fade.

The undead man didn't leave him alone.

Reaching up, he grabbed a hold of the table lamp and smashed it against the ground. Staring at the jagged edge, he placed his palm face up against the ground, and raised his other hand.

He held it there, one hand clutching the broken lamp, stretched above his head, and the other placed palm up, pressed against the carpet. Staring at his palm, he let his arm drop as sobs wracked his body. He fell to the side, pulled his legs to his chest, curled into a foetal position, and sobbed into his knees. The screaming didn't stop. The undead creature didn't go away. The itching didn't desist.

He was going mad.

* * *

**8:02 AM**

Harry slowly rose from the ground and trudged to the bathroom. Tossing his soiled clothes into the hamper, he stood under the shower. The scalding water didn't comfort him in the slightest. He brushed his teeth, shaved, combed his hair, and stepped out.

Moving around the room, he picked up his wand from the bedside table and waved it, muttering spells under his breath. The lamp fixed itself and carefully stood back in its original position. The pillows sewed themselves back together, stuffing and all, and flopped on to the bed. The scratch marks in the carpet and the walls slowly disappeared, and he looked around the room.

It was as though his nightmare had never happened. It was as though nobody had been in that room at all, the previous night.

A madman's face flashed before his eyes, a hissing sound filled his ears, and he swallowed thickly. It was getting out of control. He'd been able to keep his nightmares in check by downing vials of dreamless sleep potions or Firewhiskey. He'd been able to pretend like his hallucinations had never occurred by choosing to ignore them and distracting himself. He'd been able to pretend like everything was fine by focusing on work and the kids and anything else. But after the events of the previous day, he had been under the misconception that he had found closure, and had let his nightmares go scott-free.

And now he was paying dearly for it. He scratched his arm and winced as sharp pain shot through him. Looking down, he eyed the long, bleeding marks on his arms and legs and sighed.

He could no longer ignore the fact that his nightmares were slowly eating away at his sanity and ruining his life. Somehow, when Ginny and the kids were around, he was able to function normally, and the nightmares didn't affect him as much. But as soon as he was away from them… it was like a rabid animal that had broken free from its chains.

Trudging towards his study, barely noticing that he was wearing nothing but a damp towel on a cold November morning, he walked towards his desk. Pulling open the drawer, he took out an envelope and a sheet of parchment and placed them neatly on the tabletop. Sitting down on the edge of his seat, he picked up his quill, dipped it twice in the pot, touched the nib against the edge of the glass container to ensure it wouldn't drip, and placed it against the page.

He stared at the blank parchment for a long time, wondering what in hell he was supposed to write.

"Hello, I'm Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, the Man-Who-Is-Now-Losing-His-Mind," he said in a mocking tone of voice. Gritting his teeth, he slapped his forehead and clenched his fist.

_This is serious. Come on._

He twirled the quill in his fingers, spraying droplets of ink around. Swearing under his breath, he Scoured the desk, but in the process, knocked over the pot of ink. It crashed to the floor, staining the beige carpet a deep blue so dark it was almost black.

"Ginny is going to  _kill_ me," he muttered and felt a chill run down his spine. He whipped around, thinking he had sensed someone behind him, his heart racing.

Flicking his wand to shut the door and lock it, he muttered a few protective charms for good measure. He looked back towards the spot on the floor and saw the madman's face, now more prominent than ever, the sound of the waves filling his ears. He touched his throat, almost feeling a tingling sensation where the skeletal fingers had choked him, and swallowed thickly.

" _Tergeo. Reparo."_ He pointed his wand at the blotch on the carpet and sighed as he watched the ink retract back and then form a blob, filling the pot after it fixed itself. Leaning down, he picked the pot of ink and placed it carefully on the desk, pushing it away from the edge just in case.

He then went through the process of dipping the nib of his quill in the ink, tapping it twice against the rim, and positioning it on the blank sheet again.

"OK," he said, inhaling deeply. "You can do this. Come on. It's just a damn letter."

 _A damn letter to a damn organisation with damn Mind-Healers that specialise in dealing with damned patients like you,_ his mind supplied helpfully, and he resisted the urge to slap himself.

Moving his hand to the top left corner of the page, he finally pressed the nib against the parchment. Once the ink blotted, and he couldn't dilly-dally any longer lest a hole form in the sheet, he scrawled a word.

He sat back and stared at his handiwork, feeling proud that he'd managed to take the first step. Nodding to himself confidently, he went about writing the rest of the letter.

* * *

**9:50 AM**

Nearly three hours, and an overflowing wastebasket full of discarded letters, later, Harry picked up the parchment on his desk and read through the short lines for the dozenth time. Yes. This would do.

Humming to himself, he folded the page neatly and placed it in the envelope. Sealing it shut, he carefully wrote the name and address of the recipient, staring at it for a long moment.

_Antares. Somehow it's a really soothing sort of name, isn't it?_

_Definitely._

"And now I'm talking to myself," he groaned as he stretched.

He whistled for Pig, waiting for about five minutes before deciding that there was literally nothing stopping him from roasting the damned bird and eating it for dinner. Grumbling to himself, he stalked out of his study and down the stairs, focusing on what he was doing and consciously keeping the horrific images from flashing before his eyes.

The last thing he needed was to trip and fall down the stairs and die in a pool of his own blood after having survived a direct Killing Curse from the greatest Dark Wizard of all time.

"Great, now I, myself, have high expectations for my own death. Just what I needed," Harry muttered as he stomped up to where the stupid bird was sitting on the windowsill, preening its feathers.

He thought it would at least give him the evil eye, but the bloody owl simply ignored him, and he muttered some more as he pictured different ways in which he could end the stupid ball of fluff's life. He rummaged through the cupboards and found the owl treats Ginny had splurged on the past week, and emptied the whole box on to the table.

"Come and get them," he called, and after a moment, Pig raised its head, tilted it, stared at the owl treats, and then flew at them.

Grinning, Harry immediately put up a barrier, and Pig screeched, nearly ramming into it, fluttering in place angrily. It squawked at him, and he rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, I am threatened by you in all your half-foot-high glory. Here." He held out the envelope, and Pig eyed it disdainfully.

Harry raised the barrier slightly, and just as the bird turned towards the treats, put it back down. He shrugged and grinned when Pig fixed wide, accusing eyes on him and shook the letter.

"Still going to be  _pig_ -headed?" he asked, and the owl clucked reproachfully. It finally took the letter from his hand, and he pulled his fingers away just before the stupid bird managed to nip or claw at him.

"Who's the smarter one, now, eh?" He waggled his eyebrows, and he could swear that Pig rolled its eyes. The owl turned towards the snacks and Harry shrugged.

"Your mouth's full. How about you go empty it and come back?"

Pig squawked angrily from around the letter and took off—but not before leaving a nicely sized pellet on Harry's coat that was hanging on the chair.

"Right, now even an  _owl_ is outdoing me." He Scoured the poo and made a face as he picked up the jacket.

"Might as well wash it, seeing as I have nothing better to do."

He whistled a happy tune as he made his way out of the living room, ignoring the way the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end or how he felt as if someone was watching him.

* * *

_There was an incessant scratching sound coming from somewhere. He groaned and clapped his hands on his ears, trying to get rid of the sound, but the more he didn't want to hear it, the louder it got. Unable to handle it, he opened his eyes, intent on finding the source of the sound, but what he saw made his blood run cold._

_He was staring at himself, or what had been him a decade ago. The younger him was stuck to the ceiling above, staring down with lifeless eyes. He suddenly realised after a moment that it wasn't his younger self that was upside down, but it was_ him  _that wasn't right side up. He tried to move but found that he was tied to a rough surface behind him, unable to budge even an inch._

_He wasn't sure where they were, but he felt like he was underground, because of the dankness and the pungent, earthy smell. Plus, the surface beneath his fingertips felt like soil and the ropes that bound him oddly felt like roots. Where the hell was he?_

_The longer he struggled, the faster he felt breathless, and he had to rest for several moments before trying again. After what seemed like ages of struggling, he decided to stop because he was starting to feel faint. It was as though there wasn't enough air where they were._

_The scratching continued and he realised that his younger self was digging his nails into the ground. He continued to watch, the grating sound filling his head with a low buzzing. When the scratching stopped, he looked up to see that his younger self was staring right at him. Unnerved, he struggled some more, trying to escape this thoughtless form of torture._

_After a moment, his younger self opened his mouth and said in an eerie, hollow voice, "How does it feel to be buried alive?"_

* * *

**12:13 PM**

Harry woke up gasping for breath and drenched in sweat. Groaning, he slammed a fist on the bed and draped his other arm over his eyes. He'd downed a whole vial of Potion for Dreamless Sleep and he'd  _still_ had a nightmare.

"It's almost as if  _I'm_ the one that can't let them go," he muttered as he tried to calm his racing heart and stabilise his breathing.

He lay on the bed for a long time, and when he felt like he had enough strength to stand, he rolled out from under the sheets and rose slowly to his feet. Dragging himself to the bathroom, he splashed his face, revelling at the coolness of the water against his burning skin.

Sighing, he slowly raised his head and looked into the mirror, jerking back when he thought he saw a figure behind him. Forcing himself not to look over his shoulder, he stared at his reflection and said through gritted teeth, "Calm down. It's just another hallucination. Your mind just likes playing tricks on you." When his reflection only stared back at him resolutely, he muttered, "Get your shite together, mate."

He plodded out of the bathroom and lumbered down the stairs, stifling a yawn and groaning. He was as exhausted now as he usually was after a particularly strenuous mission.

He'd just reached the bottom when he heard a rattling from the living room. Stopping dead in his tracks, he reached for his wand and realised he'd left it upstairs.

Swearing under his breath, he listened intently, hearing a soft, scratching sound. He debated whether to go after the intruder or leave them be until he went and retrieved his wand and, after a minute of going back and forth, decided the latter was the better choice. A sharp rapping sound came from the living room as he slowly stepped backwards, but before he could turn and run up the stairs, an undeniably familiar squawk filled the quiet house.

Slumping against the railing, he shook his head. Of  _course_ it was just Pig. What had he expected?  _Stupid, stupid._

Running a hand through his hair, he strode into the living room, staring intently at Pig and ignoring the way his skin broke out in gooseflesh.

"I see you're helping yourself," he said as he snatched the letter from the table before Pig could reach it, and the owl snapped its beak at him. Pig stared at him for a moment longer before turning back to the snacks. Harry snorted as he opened the envelope and pulled out the crisp, neatly folded sheet of parchment.

He eyed the fancy, elegant writing on the front of the envelope as he unfolded the letter, and turned to read what it said.

 _Greetings, Mr Sandford, and thank you for writing to us,_ he read silently as he sat down in one of the armchairs and made himself comfortable. He'd used an alias just as Neville had instructed but hadn't expected a response this fast.

He scanned the rest of the letter idly, stifling a yawn as he settled back in the armchair, sleep tugging at his exhausted mind.

Unable to keep himself awake any longer, and enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun that poured in through the window, he slowly drifted off, his last thought being that he was glad he'd finally found someone who'd help get rid of his nightmares.

* * *

 


	10. 10 Lies: Antares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anybody spots errors in the French please let me know because I used Google Translate and Merlin knows it's as good at its job as Binns is at teaching History.

**Chapter 10**

**Antares**

* * *

**[6 November 2011]**

**10:30 AM**

He jerked upright as a young man wearing a red scarf entered the Muggle café. Waiting with bated breath, he watched as the man walked towards him, but before he could reach the back, a woman called out to him. Disappointed, Harry slumped back in his seat and eyed his watch reproachfully.

_Half past ten. He's late._

Sighing, he called for a waiter and ordered a cup of black coffee. The girl who'd served him before arrived with his order five minutes later, shooting him an odd look as she replaced the empty cup on the table with the full one. He thanked her, and she bustled away, greeting the customer who had just walked in. Picking up his coffee, Harry eyed the overcast sky from his seat by the window and wondered if it would start raining again. He had been soaked by the time he had found the café half an hour earlier.

He was just about to bring the cup to his lips when the chair opposite his was pulled back, and a mellow, female voice addressed him.

"I'm awfully sorry for my tardiness, Mr Sandford, but it was pouring cats and dogs and it took me the longest time to hail a taxi."

Barely managing not to spill the scalding liquid on himself, Harry gingerly placed the cup back and stared up at the pretty blonde who had her hand outstretched towards him. She raised her eyebrows when he didn't take it, and Harry blustered, grabbing it and shaking it awkwardly. She smiled as she settled in her seat and beckoned to the same brunette waitress.

"I'd like a cup of tea, please."

"Of course. How would you like it, Ma'am?"

"Black, thank you."

The girl nodded and walked away, but not before throwing another suspicious glance in Harry's direction.

In order to match his alias, Harry had taken the opportunity to practice his spell-casting skills for the occasion. He had used glamour to turn his hair a dull, mousy shade of brown with wisps of grey in it, added wrinkles and freckles to his face, covered his scar, and changed his eye colour to a light hazel. He'd chosen to wear a rather tattered-looking trench coat that was a size too large over a pistachio-green shirt, grey pants, and suspenders to complete his disguise. 

All in all, he looked like a very suspicious middle-aged man who had ordered nothing but three cups of black coffee in the past half hour and now had a lady companion who was much too pretty to be accompanying someone shady-looking like him.

Said lady companion was currently introducing herself, but Harry was preoccupied by the crimson scarf wrapped around her throat, identifying her as the person he had been waiting for all along.

"Camilla McMahon?" Harry repeated the name she had offered in introduction. She titled her head in the slightest, her smile widening.

"Yes, that would be me. And you're Mr Sandford, as your letter indicates." She pulled out a letter from her purse and placed it neatly on the table. He stared at the envelope and watched as she pulled out a file and placed it beside the letter.

"What's that?" Harry asked her, and she clicked the file open just as the waitress came over.

"One cup of tea for the lady," the girl said in a cheery tone, the complete opposite of the cold look she shot Harry. When Miss McMahon smiled and thanked her, the brunette blushed and scampered off.

"If I may ask, Miss McMahon—"

"Please, call me Camilla—or Cam, whichever you prefer. If we're going to do this, we need to break away the formality as much as possible."

Harry stared at her as she took off the scarf and placed it in her bag. In all honesty, he was still stunned that the person who'd responded to his letter was this very attractive blonde instead of the rather lumpy, balding, ordinary looking wizard he had imagined her to be. She had signed the letter as  _Healer McMahon,_  which hadn't offered Harry's imagination much to work with. Especially because the previous Mind Healers that had counseled him had been the exact opposite of a beautiful blue-eyed blonde.

The letter had instructed him to sit at the farthest table by the window in an out-of-the-way Muggle café wearing a grey trench coat. And, to make identification easier, the Mind Healer meeting with him would wear a crimson scarf. So, one thought had led to another, and he'd expected to be spending the morning with a middle-aged wizard in a nondescript suit a size too large.

Except the woman before him looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties, had pale, flawless skin, piercing blue eyes, short, straight, light-coloured hair, and was wearing woollen stockings and a long, figure-hugging sweater under her overcoat. The fact that someone as good-looking as her worked for a secret, private organisation was sort of…

"You seem surprised to see me," she said, drawing him out of his thoughts, and Harry grunted.

"Can't say I'm not."

"Is it because I'm a woman?"

He shrugged, and her eyes sparkled as she leant forwards. "Did you not expect someone so attractive because of the work I do?"

 _I'd almost forgotten how perceptive these damned Mind Healers are,_ Harry groused to himself.

"I suppose," he answered, feeling uncomfortable under her piercing gaze. This woman seemed like more of a diplomat or a politician than a Mind Healer, and he didn't know how he felt about having to spill all his deepest, darkest secrets to her.

"Have you tried the blueberry crumpets here? They're simply marvellous," she was saying. "I highly recommend them."

"I'm not very hungry, thanks."

She nodded as she beckoned to the waitress and ordered a plate of crumpets. "Well, where were we?" She looked at the file on the table. "Ah, yes. So, Mr Sandford, would you like to tell me a little bit about yourself?"

"Er..." Harry was suddenly lost for words despite having prepped himself, for hours, on what he would say.

As though sensing his discomfort, she began speaking again. "Oh, did you have trouble finding this place? It's rather out-of-the-way, isn't it? I like it because it has this cozy, homely sort of atmosphere. Don't you agree?"

"Er," he said again, startled by the sudden barrage of questions. "No, not really. It didn't take very long to find. I like their coffee."

The waitress walked up just then and, placing the plate on the table, shot him a small smile.  _Huh._

"Thank you, dear," Miss McMahon—Camilla, said. The girl flushed and walked away. Camilla pushed the plate aside as she opened the file. "Well, I'm sure you have a number of questions you'd like to ask me, but before that," she pulled out a sheet of parchment and placed it before him, "I'm going to have to ask you to sign this agreement form."

"Step One?" Harry asked, staring at the bold lettering.

"Yes, this is the first of the many forms you're going to have to sign if you decide to consult with us. It's only the initial ones that are important and need to be read carefully. The later ones that come during our sessions will be standard agreement forms."

He nodded, skimming through the form. "And what exactly does Step One entail?"

"Due to our stringent confidentiality policy, we have a set of precautionary forms to preserve the secrecy of our organisation. Step One entails that, by signing this form, you accept the terms and conditions put forth in the form and that every word we exchange from this point on shall strictly remain between us."

"It says here that I'm going to have to sign another form after you give me an introduction?"

"Yes, again, for the same reasons as I just mentioned, we have to follow strict protocol through the course of the introduction. So that, if you were to decide to walk away, you can do so without any complications or consequences."

Harry nodded, impressed by the level of diligence. "So I just sign here?"

"Yes," Camila said, placing a ballpoint pen on the table.

He stared at the Muggle pen, and then at her, and could've sworn that she was silently laughing at him by her blue eyes twinkled in amusement. Of course he'd have to use a Muggle pen, they were in a Muggle town, surrounded by Muggles, and he looked suspicious as it was, what would happen if he were to whip out a fancy-looking quill?

_Lunch at the Muggle loony bin, first class, table for one._

"Right, then," he muttered, picking up the pen and pressing it to the parchment. He was about to sign his name—his  _real_ name—when he caught himself just in time. His heart began to race; he was sure she'd noticed the pause, so he quickly scrawled  _Harvey Sandford_ at the bottom of the sheet.

He pushed the form and pen towards her, and she placed them in the file with a smile. 

A sudden thought occurred to Harry, and before he could stop himself, he blurted out, "I'm sure all your clients use aliases when they first correspond with you, right?"

Camila looked up with a curious expression. "Actually, we recommend that they do. A lot of them retain their aliases through the course of their consultation, no matter how long it is. That allows them the freedom to go about their normal lives and doesn't tie them to us in any way other than their pseudonyms."

He nodded. "So, I was curious, and you don't have to tell me if you can't, confidentiality and all, but how do you keep track of your clients if they're using aliases? What if someone else finds out and uses the same alias to contact you?"

Camilla had a sort of smug smile on her face, as though she was secretly proud that he had asked, and said, "Well, to be honest, nobody's ever asked me that. So I'm not entirely sure if I'm breaching protocol by telling you this, but I guess it doesn't matter either way—the parchment you're asked to sign on is enchanted so that it remembers your magical signature. Once each step has been completed, the form changes to that of the next step, hence recording what can be considered a "magical imprint" of sorts at every turn. This is a fool-proof method that hasn't failed us yet, if I say so myself."

Harry hummed, impressed.  _These people have put some serious thought into all of this._  "So, if by some chance, someone else were to use my signature, the parchment would automatically record their magical imprint, recognise that it isn't the same as mine, and you'd be able to handle the situation immediately?"

"Precisely," Camila replied, her smile wide. "Is there anything else you'd like to know?"

Harry shrugged, relaxing now that he knew there wouldn't be any chance of funny business so far. "Not really."

"Well, then, let's move on. I'm sure you want to know who we are, and what Antares is all about." When he nodded, she continued. "Antares is a private organisation that was established five years ago by a certain wizard who was very keen on helping magical folk in need. He trained as a Healer shortly after leaving Hogwarts and chose to branch out as a Mind Healer who specifically dealt with war trauma. Since his patients didn't want their identities to be revealed due to the nature of the help they were seeking and their recognisability in society, he'd meet with them in private and provided consultation whenever requested.

"When what used to be three or four clients slowly started to increase to nearly a dozen or so, he realised that it was impossible to help them all on his own and started recruiting other Mind Healers who shared the same beliefs and ideas as him. Thus, a sort of unofficial private organisation was started, and within three years' time, more and more magical folk from around the world started to consult with us, causing us to branch out from just patients who suffered from war trauma to patients who suffered specific ailments of the mind.

"Two years later, the organisation became official under the name Antares, but continued to keep its status as a semi-secret, private organisation as the witches and wizards who consulted with us preferred it to be that way. Now, we are an international organisation that continues to help magical folk like you while keeping our existence, as well as your needs, under wraps."

She took a deep breath and smiled expectantly at him as she waited for everything to sink in. Harry sifted through the information, recollecting older knowledge regarding an organisation that sounded much like this one, and realised it might be the same. Wondering how many years it was since Neville started consulting them, he asked, "How long have you worked for Antares?"

"I have been working for Antares for about seven years, now, and am one of the senior consultants," Camila replied proudly.

Impressed, Harry picked up a crumpet and bit into it, humming at the explosion of blueberry in his mouth. "This is good."

Camilla grinned. "I told you so, didn't I?"

Harry leant back and relaxed as she started to narrate the story of how she had stumbled upon the café, and he felt he may have judged her a little too quickly. Maybe she'd be able to help him after all.

* * *

**1:13 PM**

He watched the taxi Camilla was in till it was out of sight and stood staring at nothing in particular for a long moment. Since receiving her letter the previous evening, he had spent all of his time thinking of what he should say and do when they met, and concocting all sorts of laughable and implausible worst-case scenarios in his head. So much so that he hadn't bothered thinking about what he'd do  _after_ he met her.

_I should seriously put more thought into future planning._

Walking down the footpath, he looked around idly, taking in the bustling Muggle town in all its glory. He hadn't really paid it much attention on his way to the café because of the rain and him getting lost, but now that he had nothing better to do, he decided that he might as well take a walk and get his thoughts in order.

Even though it was cloudy and chilly, there were people out on the streets, going about their business as per usual, and Harry felt a moment's envy at their mundane lives.  _Stop it,_ he scolded himself.  _You wouldn't know what to do with yourself if you lived such a life._

Crossing the street, he glanced at the glass front of a shop and was mildly startled by his own reflection. He'd almost forgotten that he was in disguise, and he grimaced as his hazel-eyed, grey-haired reflection looked back at him reproachfully. Shaking his head, he continued down the footpath and let his mind wander.

There had been a point that day when he had realised that it was all real and was actually happening to him. For a moment, he had wished he'd told Ginny about his nightmares. He yearned for her company, and he just needed to know that she was somewhere close by and not halfway across the country. He wanted to come clean to her so badly, to tell her everything he was going through, and just have her wrap her arms around him and tell him it was all going to be OK and that she'd always be there for him like she had countless times before.

No sooner had the thought had crossed his mind, though, so had the realisation that telling her now would definitely be a mistake. It wasn't something he could do on the phone or by letter, or even by fire-call, and there was no way he could ask her to come all the way back just for his sake. She had finally sounded energetic and more like herself when he'd spoken to her earlier that day, and he didn't want to ruin her trip and add to her stress by pushing his problems onto her.

He wanted to tell her, but he would wait until she returned. Besides, that way she wouldn't be as stressed or moody and might not get as angry at him for keeping it from her than otherwise.

_Or at least I can hope._

He had walked quite a bit, and just when he realised that he had absolutely no idea where he was, it started to drizzle. Cursing under his breath, Harry quickly jogged to a nearby florist's shop and took shelter under the canopy. Checking his watch, he decided that he could afford to wait for the rain to stop since he didn't really have anything planned anyway. After a while of staring at the grey sky, he pulled out his phone and turned it on.

Alarmed by the sudden, incessant beeping and blinking, he found that he had over half a dozen missed calls and messages. Frowning, he scrolled through the list and found that a few were from work—and messages from Hermione checking in to see if he was OK and not rotting away in some corner of the house—there were a couple from the Burrow—he wasn't sure if it was either the kids or Arthur or both—and two messages from Ginny. Raising his eyebrows, he dialled her number and pressed the phone to his ear. As the call connected, his heart started to race and he began to feel uncharacteristically nervous.

_It's just a bloody phone call to your wife. Why are you behaving like you're guilty of committing some heinous crime?_

"Hello? Harry?"

He jumped slightly when he heard her voice and greeted her a little too enthusiastically.

"Harry? Can you hear me? What's going on? Where are you?" Ginny yelled, and he could barely hear her over all the disturbance in the background.

"Oh, nothing, I saw your messages so I thought I'd call you. What's with all the noise?" he said loudly, shooting an apologetic look towards the owner of the shop, who was standing by the door, watching the rain, as she glared at him.

Walking a little away from the front of the store, he pressed a finger to his other ear and tried to make out what Ginny was saying.

"Gin, I can't hear you! There's too much noise!"

"What? I can't hear you! Wait, let me call you back!"

Before he could reply, the line went dead, and he stood staring at the blank screen. A few minutes later, as promised, Ginny called him back, and this time it was much quieter.

"Can you hear me now?"

"Yeah, I can. Where are you?"

"Oh, I woke up late this morning and couldn't go with the Harpies to the practice pitch, so I decided to finish up some other work…" she paused, and he heard her speaking to someone else. After a moment, she was back on line. "Yeah, so now I'm trying to get to the pitch but you won't  _believe_ the crowd thronging the gates! I've been stuck here for a good three quarters of an hour, now! I only just managed to wean myself out to call you."

"Can't you just show them your pass?" he asked as he stuck his hand out from under the canopy and felt the cold drops splatter against his palm.

"Like they care! Plus, it'll be dangerous if these crazy fans manage to sneak in behind me. I'm just going to have to deal with it till the wizard in charge of security gets here."

"Alright."

"So, how are you? How was work? Did you finish that thing you had?"

"Oh, yeah, it didn't turn out the way we planned, but the higher ups are pleased nonetheless, so I guess what's done is done."

"That's good." For a moment, he thought she'd ask him more, but, to his surprise, she didn't. Instead, she asked, "Have you been to see the kids, yet?"

"Not yet. I just got free. I'll go pick them up later today."

"Why? Fleur'll be staying till next weekend, right? Why not just let the kids spend time with little Lou and Nicki? They'll have nothing to do at home, anyway, and you'll have more peace of mind that way."

"Yeah, I guess…" he trailed off, his heart pounding in his chest. His mind was pushing him to tell her about the nightmares and Antares, but he was forcing himself not to.

"Harry? Is everything OK?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. I'm just exhausted from work, that's all."

"Why don't you go spend the afternoon over at Ron and Hermione's? You haven't seen Ron in a while, yeah?"

"Maybe I will…"

She asked him to wait for a moment and he listened to her converse with someone else, and just as she started to say something to him, he blurted out, "Ginny, there's something I have to tell you."

There was a pause, and then—"What is it?"

Heart racing, he swallowed and wondered if it really was such a bad idea to tell her right then and get over with it. Maybe she wouldn't have much time to think about it, and he'd be able to convince her that it wasn't that big of a deal and that he had it under control.

"Harry?"

_Yeah, right._

"No, never mind. It's not important. I'll tell you once you get home. It's just something that cropped up at work. So, how're things there?"

"Oh, the wizard in charge of the west gate just appeared with a whole battalion of guards. They're sending away the crowd. I'll be able to go in once the guards are sure no one managed to sneak in."

"That's good. Listen, Ginny—"

"Oh, I'm getting another call! Sorry, sweetheart, I'll talk to you later, OK? Bye! I love you!"

"Oh, alright. Bye," he said, but she'd already disconnected the call. He raked a hand through his hair.

He turned to see that the owner of the shop was pulling down the shutters, and sighed. Looking around, he saw that there were barely any people on the streets, now, and wondered if he should just go back home. It wasn't like he had anything to do, anyway. He watched the rain for a while, replied to some of his messages, and then checked the time.

This was going nowhere.

* * *

**4:22 PM**

"Daddy!"

"Hi, pumpkin!" Harry picked Lily up and twirled her around, laughing as his daughter squealed with delight.

"Me next! Me next!" Albus cried, holding his arms out and jumping up and down.

"Alright, alright. Let Daddy come in, first." He put Lily down and ruffled Albus's hair. "Where's Jamie?" he asked, looking around when he didn't spot the older boy.

"Jamie and Nicki and Little Lou's helping Auntie Flu clean the attic!"

He couldn't help but grin at how Lily pronounced Fleur's name. She couldn't say  _Fleur_ the way Fleur, and everyone else, did, so she switched between Auntie Flu and Auntie Floor. It was a running gag in the family.

"Lily, Little Lou isn't little for you 'cause you're littler," Albus was explaining to his sister, but Lily didn't seem to be listening.

"Little Lou is Little Lou!" she yelled, prancing around. "And you're little, too! Little Al!"

"No!" Albus shouted, grabbing Lily's arm. "I'm not little!"

Lily screamed and slapped Albus's hand away, and Harry had to stand in between them to make sure a fight didn't break out.

"OK, OK, come on, you two, no fighting. Can you tell me where Grandma is, Lily?" Harry turned to his daughter as he held Albus back.

Albus stuck his bottom lip out and crossed his arms, sulking. Harry hid a smile as Lily turned in a slow circle, apparently looking for her grandma.

"She's out  _there_ ," Albus finally said, pointing a finger towards the back garden, and Lily ran to the kitchen door and peered out.

"Gram'ma! Gram'ma! Daddy, I found Gram'ma!"

" _I_ found Gram'ma!"

"Al," Harry chided gently as he led his pouting son towards the garden.

"But why  _always_ Lily?" Albus demanded, looking up at Harry with an angry frown. " _I'm_ here, too!"

_Oh boy._

"I know, Al, but she's your baby sister, isn't she?" he tried to reason, but Albus huffed adamantly and looked away.

Biting back a sigh, Harry picked him up and sat him down on the kitchen counter. Looking over his shoulder to make sure Lily hadn't tripped and fallen on her way to her grandparents, he turned back to his son.

"Al," Harry said, but Albus refused to look up at him. "Al, come on, look at Daddy."

"Don't wanna!"

He stared at his son's head and sighed. Well, this was what he got for not spending enough time with his kids.

"Al, c'mere." He hugged the boy, and Albus struggled for a moment before settling against Harry's chest.

Harry held him for a long minute before Albus whispered in a muffled voice, "I missed you, Daddy."

Harry felt a lump form in his throat. Pressing a kiss to his son's head, he said, "I missed you, too."

Albus pulled back and stared at his hands, sniffing. Harry felt his heart break.

"Hey, Al, how about you and I go flying? You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Albus instantly perked up and stared at Harry wide-eyed, anticipation and excitement glimmering in those emerald orbs so similar to his own.

"Really?" Albus asked, and Harry nodded.

"Really."

"You'll take me flying? On your broom? Like we used to?"

"Yup. Just like we used to."

"Yay! I'm gonna go tell Jamie!"

Before he could stop his son, Albus had already jumped off the counter and was racing up the stairs.

"No running up the stairs!" he heard Fleur's voice call, and, shaking his head, Harry walked outside to where Molly and Arthur were lounging in the garden.

"Harry! Good to see you, my boy!" Arthur said jovially as he clapped Harry on the back.

"Good to see you too, Arthur, Molly."

"Oh, I was wondering when you'd drop by!" Molly gushed, pulling him into a tight hug and calling to Lily. "Lily, sweetheart, your daddy's here!"

"Ah, she knows already," he said as Lily came running out from behind the bushes, her arms laden with plants.

"Oh my, Lily, did you pull out Grandma's flowers again?" Molly admonished gently as the little redhead held up the flowers.

"For you, Gram'ma!"

"Why, thank you, darling. Now, let's go put them back, shall we?"

Lily nodded, and Molly ushered her back to the flower patch.

"I heard about it from Kingsley," Arthur finally said once the two were out of earshot. "Terrible, simply terrible."

After a long moment, Harry replied. "Well, I'm glad they let us give him a proper cremation. He deserved that much, at least."

"Yes, definitely," Arthur said with a sad shake of his heads. "Those were such terrible times, Harry, the wars, and nobody came out unscathed, whichever side they were on."

Harry nodded solemnly as he listened to Molly and Lily laugh. "I'm just glad it's all over. We can finally have a world where our kids can grow up in peace."

Arthur hummed in agreement and hefted his pants up. "No more war."

"No more war," Harry said as he thought back to his conversation with Camilla earlier.  _Now if only I could move past it…_

* * *

**8:34 PM**

"Me and Little Lou are gonna sleep in Uncle George's room, and you can't sleep with us today, Al!" James declared as the kids strode into the living room.

Albus looked aghast.

"Can too! I'm sleeping with you, too!" he finally managed, trailing behind his brother.

"Jamie!  _Stop_ calling me Little Lou! I'm  _older_ than you!" eight-year-old Louis yelled, his face flushed, as he trudged in behind the two brothers.

"So?" James said, looking at Louis like he was off his rocker. " _Everyone_ calls you Little Lou."

"That's because they're  _older_ than me!" Louis exclaimed, exasperated. "You're littler so  _stop_ calling me that!"

James jutted his chin out and promptly went, "Little Lou!" earning a smack on the head from the older boy.

"Ow!"

"You deserved it! I  _warned_ you!"

"Oh, please." Ten-year-old Dominique joined in the fray by whacking her brother atop the head and rolling her eyes at him. "So what if you're older than him? You're still  _little."_

"I am  _not!_ Shut  _up!"_

Dominique raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms, and Louis seemed to instantly realise his mistake. He opened his mouth, making to say something, but his sister beat him to it.

" _Maman!_ Louis's using bad words again!"

Fleur's voice instantly called down the stairs, "Louis! _Ne pas utiliser tel langage!_ "

" _Je n'ai pas dit ça! Elle ment, Maman_!" Louis yelled back, red in the face.

"I didn't lie!" Dominique countered, grabbing her brother and ruffling his hair with all her might.

Fleur yelled back in rapid French, and both siblings immediately simmered down, looking chastised.

Harry chuckled as he watched the on-goings, sipping on his tea.  _I'd almost forgotten about Fleur and her temper._

Albus sidled up to Harry and whispered, "Auntie Fleur is scary sometimes." Harry grinned as he patted his son's head, agreeing wholeheartedly.

"Alright, kids!" Fleur called as she came down the stairs. "Time for bed! Wish  _Grand-mère_ and  _Grand-père_ goodnight!"

All the kids groaned unanimously but said half-hearted goodnights anyway and trudged up the stairs without argument. Harry held Lily's hand as they followed behind James and Albus. It had been decided that the boys would sleep in Fred and George's old room and Lily would sleep with Fleur in Ginny's old room, when the kids had arrived two days ago, and Harry was to spend the night in Percy's old room.

Once the kids were all settled in, he switched the lights off and was about to go downstairs when Molly called up the stairs.

"Harry, darling? I think Fleur accidentally stashed a pile of my cookbooks in Ron's room when she was cleaning the attic. Would you be a dear and get them for me?"

"Of course." Harry carefully made his way to the top, making sure to avoid the especially creaky stairs.  _Should fix this lot again._

He fumbled around in the dark as he tried to turn on the lights, and then deciding that he couldn't be bothered, muttered, " _Accio cookbooks."_

For a moment, nothing happened, and he was about to say the spell again when a box flew straight at him, hitting him in the gut and sending him sprawling across the floor. He groaned as he pulled himself up and dusted his clothes. Muttering about cookbooks and better control over spells, he'd just started down the stairs when there was a creak behind him.

Whipping around, he shifted the box in his arms and pointed his wand before him, murmuring a quiet  _Lumos_ and waiting for something to jump out at him. A shiver ran down his spine, and he felt like there was something in the shadows, but before he could check, a stair creaked. He snapped around, wand brandished, only to come face to face with a bewildered Fleur.

"I heard something fall, so I came to check," she said, alarmed, and Harry dropped his hand.

"I couldn't see, so… sorry," he said sheepishly, and she gave him a weird look.

"Better get those to Molly." She took the box from him and made her way down the stairs—but not before shooting him a look over her shoulder.

Taking in a deep breath, Harry tried to calm his racing heart, and, clutching his wand tightly, lumbered down. It seemed like he would have to put up Muffling Charms on the bedroom door again, that night.


	11. 11 Lies: Fateful Encounter

**Chapter 11**

**A Fateful Encounter**

* * *

**[8 November 2011]**

**[4:22 PM]**

Harry walked down the footpath, humming to himself. He had ended up arriving an hour earlier than he was supposed to, and he didn't know what to do to while away the time. The place where he was supposed to meet Camilla was on the other side of town, nowhere close to the previous one, and he was glad. He was sure that girl from last time would recognise him instantly, considering he was in the same disguise, and he didn't want to have to endure  _that_ encounter again.

The Muggle town seemed busier than the last time he'd been there, and he had to move out of the way several times so cyclists or joggers wouldn't run into him. The sun was already setting, and it was getting colder. He rubbed his hands together and side-stepped as a group of women bustled past, talking in loud voices. Sighing to himself, Harry glanced into the window of a bakery, breathing in the pungent aroma of freshly baked biscuits and bread.

There was some sort of commotion coming from inside as he walked past, and he paused out of curiosity. The owner of the bakery—a short, plump, balding, middle-aged Muggle—seemed to be in a right state. He was bellowing at the top of his lungs as he came around the counter, a rolling pin brandished in one hand. Harry frowned, wondering what had happened, when something small barrelled into him, nearly toppling him over.

He yelped and threw out an arm to steady himself. Looking down, he came face to face with a boy who looked no older than James. His dirty blond curls and freckled nose gave him a look of innocence, but there was nothing innocent about the loaf of bread in his arm or the red welt on his cheek. Before Harry could react, piercing blue eyes locked with his own emerald ones, and the boy pressed a finger to his lip before scrambling away.

Harry stared after the blond, nonplussed, until he disappeared around the corner. The owner had stepped out just then, screaming about dirty thieves and boys who weren't punished properly.

"Where'd that runt run off to, eh? Who's seen him, then?" the man bellowed, waving the rolling pin around rather violently. People moved away from the shop, looking wary, and Harry was about to join them when the Muggle caught his arm.

"You seen him? Brat with curly hair, huge loaf of bread 'neath his arm?"

Harry shook his head and held his hands up. The Muggle frowned at him suspiciously, but someone yelled about having seen the boy, and the man took off, waving the rolling pin over his head.

Harry watched as the Muggle passed the turn the boy had taken and breathed a sigh of relief. Looking around quickly, he bowed his head and strode down the street, turning left where the boy had. His heart was racing, and he felt conflicted. The child had obviously stolen the bread from the store—a rather brave crime to commit with so many people around—but thinking back, he had looked like he needed it more than anybody else.

His complexion had been pale and he had looked quite malnourished; his clothes had been battered and worn, and he had looked and smelled like he hadn't bathed in days. But more than anything, it was the fact that the boy had seemed to be around the same age as James that had thrown Harry for a toss. It reminded him of when he was that age and had barely had enough to eat. But, at least he'd had a roof over his head and enough to feed himself that he hadn't had to resort to stealing.

Looking around, he found that he had come to a more residential part of the town, away from the main street. It was quieter, with trees and gardens and fences. Harry walked down the road and spotted a small park to the right. He hummed in thought as he walked towards the park, making as little noise as possible. Standing behind a tree, he looked around and found the boy. The blond was sitting behind a bench on the farthest side of the park, eating the bread.

He took a moment to observe the boy and get his thoughts straight. The child was definitely around seven or eight years old, and Harry's suspicions were confirmed as he watched him scarf down the bread. His appearance was even worse on second glance: he was far too thin and pale, he wore only a single layer on a cold, November's evening, and his sandals were falling apart and were too small for his feet.

Harry's instant reaction was to find out if this child was an orphan. He couldn't imagine a seven-year-old fending for himself and having to go to the extent of stealing just to eat one square meal a day.

He wanted to go up to the boy and tell him that it was alright and that things would get better, but Harry, of all people, knew how dangerous lying about something like that was. He watched the boy for a moment longer and then turned away. He wanted to help this boy. No, even if he couldn't help, he wanted to know about the child's situation. First and foremost, he wanted to make sure that the boy wouldn't have to steal again. One wrong decision was all it would take for the blond to go down the wrong path. The greatest and most feared wizard of all time was the perfect example for that.

Breathing deeply, he took several minutes to think about what he would say and do, about the different scenarios that could transpire, and if interfering really was the best decision.

"Are you here to take me away?"

Harry jerked to the side and exclaimed in surprise. Looking up at him with the same intense blue eyes was the boy Harry was currently brooding over. There were crumbs around his mouth and dirt everywhere else. He looked like a street boy from the back alleys of London.

"Are you here to take me away?" the child asked again, and Harry was taken aback by how clear and fearless his voice was.

"No. No, I'm not." Harry squatted down so he was around eye level with the blond and smiled tentatively. "I'm Harry."

He had thought it best to introduce himself. That way, at least he would no longer be a complete stranger, but the child seemed to have other things on his mind.

"Are you a kidnapper?" the boy asked, frowning.

"Wha—no, no, I'm not. I'm actually… I'm actually a dad," Harry blurted out stupidly.

The boy's frown deepened, and Harry mentally slapped himself.  _Of all the idiotic…_

"Are you a bad dad?"

Harry caught his breath at the question. He wasn't sure what to say, but he decided that his best bet was to be honest. "I don't think so, no… I might not be the best dad, but I don't think I'm a bad one."

The boy didn't look too convinced. They continued to stare at each other until Harry began to feel very self-conscious and uncomfortable. He was about to say something when voices sounded around the corner. The blond snapped his head around, looking panicked.

"Come on," Harry whispered, grabbing the child's hand and quickly making off in the opposite direction.

They circled around the park and reached an alleyway that led back to the main street. He couldn't hear the voices anymore and decided that they were fine—for now.

"What's your name?" he finally asked the boy, looking down at him with a smile.

The child immediately dropped his hand from Harry's grasp and stepped back. Harry held his hands up and tried to look as un-threatening as possible. The boy shook his head.

"You look like the kidnapper my dad told me about."

_So he's got a dad. Well, that's one question answered._

He'd forgotten that he was still in disguise. He contemplates, trying to come up with an answer that wouldn't cause the boy to run away. Deciding it was all or nothing, he reached up, pressed a finger to his lips, and said in a low voice, "This is a secret that you can't tell anybody." The boy stared at him. "I'm actually in disguise right now because I'm on a top-secret mission."

He fingered his wand inside the sleeve of his coat and brought down the glamour on his face as he pretended to peel off a mask. The boy's eyes widened and he took several steps backwards, looking frightened.

_Well, that backfired._

There was the sound of laughter, and Harry quickly recast the glamour as he looked over his shoulder. He saw someone peering around the corner into the alley, but whoever it was quickly hid when they noticed Harry looking their way. He frowned as his Auror training kicked in, and his first thought was that he had to get away. The unknown person might be after  _him,_  not the boy, so the faster he left, the better the chances that he could keep the child from getting involved. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a few crumpled notes of Muggle money and held them out to the boy.

"Listen, I have to go, but I want you to go buy yourself some actual food. OK?"

The boy stared at the money wide-eyed, as though he couldn't believe what he was seeing. The voices drew closer, and Harry quickly stuffed the notes into the child's hand and ushered him down the alley. He watched as the boy stood rooted to the spot, staring at the money in his hands, disbelief clear on his face. Harry glanced towards the far end of the alleyway and spotted the suspicious figure once again. He turned away and picked up a pebble. Transfiguring it into a piece of paper, he pulled out his Self-Inking Quill and scribbled his name and number on it.

"Here, this is my number. If you find yourself in trouble, call me."

The boy stared at the paper with a dazed expression, and Harry tutted impatiently. He reached over and placed the paper in the pocket of the boy's shirt and patted it.

"Look, that fellow's probably still looking for you," Harry said, shaking the boy's shoulders gently in an attempt to get his attention. "I'll give him the money for the bread, but I want you to promise me that you won't steal again."

The child stared up at him, blue eyes conflicted, and said, "But what if I'm hungry?"

"Well…" Harry trailed off, unsure of what exactly to say. "Alright, here's some more money. If you're  _really_  hungry, then go  _buy_ yourself some food. Don't steal it."

He handed the boy a few more crumpled notes and coins. The blond stared at it and slowly shook his head. "I can't take this."

Harry frowned. "Why not?"

"My dad always says never to take favours from people you can't pay back. I can't pay you back, Mister."

Harry felt a lump form in his throat and he smiled gently. "It's alright. Think of this as an early Christmas present."

"Christmas?" the boy whispered, a look of awe on his face. "I've never got a Christmas present before."

Harry knew exactly how the boy felt; he himself remembered being seven and watching his cousin and the other children get tons of presents for Christmas, while he never got any.

"There's always a first time, right?" he said, patting the boy's hair. The child ducked his head and nodded.

After a moment, he looked up at Harry and smiled tentatively. "Thanks, Mister."

"You're welcome." The sound of laughter grew louder, and Harry looked over his shoulder. The person who had been spying on him seemed to have decided that whatever they had planned on doing wasn't worth the risk because they were quickly walking away from the alley. He debated if he should follow after them before checking his watch and realising that it was almost time for his appointment with Camilla. "Look, I really have to go, but make sure you get yourself a proper meal, alright?"

"Alright." The boy nodded and grinned.

Harry felt a warm feeling settle in his stomach. He remembered the day when Hagrid had come and taken him away, and couldn't help but wonder if he had managed to make this little boy half as happy as he had been. Ruffling the boy's hair affectionately, he started to walk away, when the child called, "I don't think you're a bad dad, Mister!"

He grinned and waved at the boy. "Thanks. And it's Harry, not mister."

The boy nodded. "My name's Dan. Dan Grant."

"I'll see you around, then, Dan Grant."

"See you around, Mr Potter!"

He watched as the boy waved and took off, nearly running into the Muggle women who had finally reached the alleyway. They yelled at Dan, who stuck his tongue out at them before running off. Harry laughed and shook his head as he walked to the main road. He checked his watch again and decided that he would still be able to make it if he speed-walked.

On his way, he took a slight detour to a certain bakery where he bought a muffin and paid quite a bit more than necessary.

* * *

**4:37 PM**

He stared up at the rather large building before him, taking in the ordinary white and glass exterior and the large, green plus sign in the middle. There was no name; it just said 'Clinic' in big, shining green lettering across the front. It looked like an ordinary Muggle hospital for all intents and purposes.

Scratching his chin, he followed a mother and son through the sliding glass doors while wondering if he was in the right place. He paused at the entrance and looked around, trying to see if he could spot someone who could help him.

To his left was the reception area, with a long, curved, white-topped mahogany desk on which were glass bowls full of sweets, notepads and pens, and two very Muggle-looking receptionists seated behind Muggle computers, chattering away on Muggle telephones. Behind them were mahogany panels and a large screen in the middle that played various medical-related things on repeat. One of the women smiled at him as he stepped away from the sliding doors and motioned towards the waiting area.

The lounge right in front of the reception desk was spacious, and rather luxurious for a small-town clinic, with plush white couches and armchairs, glass-topped coffee tables, delicate-looking plants, and a small contraption in the corner that was modelled to look like a waterfall, complete with gently trickling water. He would've thought it was magic if he hadn't known what Muggles were capable of.

Behind the waiting area was a set of stairs that led to the upper floors, and directly opposite the stairs was a spacious cubicle that had 'Pharmacy' written above it in the same green lettering. Inside were rows of shelves and cabinets that held all sorts of bottles and containers full of Muggle medication. There were several people huddled before it, holding out prescriptions, while three frazzled-looking pharmacists bustled about, pulling various bottles and tablet strips off the shelves.

In-between the stairs and the pharmacy was a long hallway that led further into the building. There were several doors, doorways and smaller corridors that led away from the main corridor, and there was always someone walking to and fro, either doctors or patients or staff members. Harry inhaled deeply and was surprised that, instead of the pungent smell of antiseptic that he associated with hospitals, he smelled a mild, soothing scent of flowers and freshly mown grass.

All in all, he was thoroughly convinced that he had stepped into a Muggle hospital and had probably gotten lost once again. He pulled out the letter from his coat pocket, which contained the address of the place he was supposed to meet Camilla at, and moved towards the reception desk. He waited for the receptionist to finish speaking to the mother and son who had entered before him and placed the letter on the desk.

She turned to him with a smile and asked him how she may be of assistance. He pointed at the address and asked her if he was at the right place. She glanced at the parchment and nodded slowly.

"Are you, perhaps, Mr Sandford?" she finally asked in her lilting voice, and Harry nodded.

"That would be me, yes. So I'm at the right place, then?"

"Oh, yes. Yes, you are. You're here for Miss McMahon?"

"Yep."

"One moment, please."

Harry stepped back and waited as the receptionist fumbled in the cupboard beneath the desk. He was surprised when she pulled out a device that looked almost identical to a Muggle telephone but was definitely magical, because of the way it distorted the space around it in the slightest. Intrigued, he watched as she dialled a number on it and pressed it to her ear.

"Miss McMahon? I have Mr Sandford here to see you." She listened for a moment and then said, "Yes, I understand. I shall inform him."

She looked up and smiled at him, but before she could tell him whatever she was supposed to, he asked, "Is that a cross-tech phone?"

The receptionist nodded, holding the phone out to him. He took the device and placed it on the desk gingerly, staring at it with fascination. He'd heard about the success of the Ministerial Department for Research and Experimentation with regards to discovering a method where they could cross Muggle technology with magical devices without going haywire. Nobody had believed that it was possible, but considering the extent to which both Muggles, as well as magical folk, had progressed in the field of science and technology, it had become a possibility sooner than later.

He had been present at the launching of one of the very first cross-tech devices over three years ago, but few people had supported the venture due to the sheer expense that went into research and experimentation. Most wizarding folk had been sceptical of the devices, but soon after the prototypes were launched, several patrons from across the world had decided to fund the venture. A little over a year ago, they were said to have sold over five hundred of these devices worldwide. Harry had never seen a fully functional one, so he was quite intrigued by it.

"I would offer it to you, but our staff wouldn't be too happy about that."

He looked up to see a smiling Camilla as she strode up to him, looking as elegant and professional as ever in a deep blue pantsuit that complemented her eyes and pale skin. She nodded at the receptionist and then held out her hand. "Good evening, Mr Sandford. I'm sorry for being late again."

"It's alright." Harry shook her hand, and she motioned towards the corridor that led into the building.

"Shall we?"

He nodded and followed after her, breathing in deeply and feeling a sense of calmness settle over him.

"What's the fragrance you're using in here?" he asked, and she glanced at him sideways, her eyebrows raised.

"I'd forgotten how sharp you are, Mr Sandford. We use custom-made air purifiers, here. It has a soothing effect on the patients and helps them calm down before they meet with their Healers. We have them sit in the lounge for a good ten minutes before we call on them."

She waved to the pharmacists—who only nodded in return before bustling away—and paused as they reached an intersection.

"Well, Mr Sandford, shall we?"

Harry looked at her sceptically. He wasn't sure what she meant since all he could see was a corridor before him and two on either side. She must have noticed his conflicted expression because she seemed like she was thoroughly enjoying herself.

"After you." She motioned forwards, and he shrugged, deciding to play along with her.

The moment Harry moved forwards, however, he instantly knew what she meant. He shivered slightly as the warm, tingling sensation of the rather subtle Muggle-Repelling Charm swept over him, leaving his extremities feeling sensitive.

Although they were still standing at the intersection, it now looked completely different from before. The walls were covered with moving portraits, and every few feet stood short, Victorian-styled pedestals upon which were delicate vases. Colourful memos fluttered above his head, zooming around the corners and waiting for the lifts. Healers in billowing powder-blue robes bustled about, rapidly discussing things Harry barely understood.

But what surprised him the most was what was at the end of the hallway. It was a mirror image of the reception desk, pharmacy and waiting area that he had just passed, but this time, the magic was palpable. Where there had been computers and notepads, there were Self-Writing Quills scribbling furiously across lengthy sheets of parchment that lay rolled up on the floor, self-typing typewriters that doled out prescriptions, and the cross-tech telephones. Behind the receptionists' desk was the same mahogany panelling, except instead of a screen, there was a large banner with moving pictures on it.

Stunned, Harry turned in a slow circle, drinking in the mothers reading Witch Weekly and the children playing with hovering plush toys; the same waterfall contraption in the corner of the room now had birds fluttering around, tittering in pleasant tones, and the water changed into different fresh, fruit juices every few minutes; the pharmacy was full of hovering bottles and jars and vials and witches and wizards yelling every time one of them knocked into them; it was chaos. But it was familiar chaos, and Harry instantly felt himself relax.

"Welcome to Antares, Mr Sandford," Camilla said with a wide grin and twinkling eyes.

"Yeah," Harry replied breathlessly, shaking his head in awe. "There're so many things I want to ask you but I suppose they'll have to wait until later."

Camille inclined her head and asked him to wait a moment as she went and conversed with the receptionist. She then motioned for him to follow her as she turned towards the lifts. As they waited, he looked up and was mildly startled to see a large, green plus sign floating just below the ceiling and revolving slowly.  _Antares_ was written across it in silver lettering, and Harry was glad to finally see something he recognised, even if it was just a name.

A disembodied voice announced the arrival of the lift, and Harry stepped aside as the door opened and the occupants poured out, some smiling or greeting Camilla as they passed by her. Once they were inside the lift, Camilla gave him a brief run-down of everything he had seen and of where they were headed. He listened attentively, nodding every now and then when she glanced his way.

She only stopped talking when they were in her office, and she handed him a form that had bold lettering across the top that read  _Step Two._

* * *

**[9 November 2011]**

_He was walking down a misty path, the swirling fog sweeping along the ground as the cold clung to his ankles. Ahead, the path cut to the left and disappeared into the mist, leaving him contemplating on whether he should continue down the road or take the turn. For some reason, he felt like he needed to go left._

_Cautiously making his way through the fog, he heard some scuffling ahead and stopped. The sound persisted, and, being the curious person that he was, he walked on to find out if there was someone else there in the darkness._

_A little boy sat with his knees to his chin, a broken top spinning before him. The boy snapped his head up, wide, emerald eyes sparkling behind cracked round glasses. He stood up, tried to smooth down his unkempt hair, and then looked up at Harry._

" _Are you here to take me away?"_

_There was something eerily familiar about the child's voice, but Harry wasn't sure what it was. He told the boy that he was lost and asked if the child knew the way out of the fog. The boy nodded and pointed down the path._

" _I'll show you the way, Mister. My house is down this way, too."_

_He followed the boy down the misty road, and just as he was thinking that they were getting nowhere, a set of stairs appeared. The boy ran up to it, bent down, and pulled open a cupboard under the stairs. He looked back at Harry, shot him an eerie smile, and ducked into the cupboard._

_Harry watched as the door slammed shut, leaving him all alone in the darkness. He walked up to the door and squatted before it, wondering what to do. Unsure, he leant back against the cupboard and closed his eyes. When he opened them a moment later, the boy was standing above him, hand stretched out, showing Harry a fistful of sweets and toffees._

" _I stole them. My cousin gets boxes of sweets every year for Christmas but all I get is one small, horrid toffee. So this time I decided to steal a box. He'll never even know it's gone, the horrible, fat boy."_

_Harry tried to explain to the messy-haired child that stealing was bad, but the boy was adamant._

" _They make me clean and do chores. They lock me up in the cupboard if they're angry and don't give me food. If I keep these sweets, then I won't have to starve the next time."_

_The boy's eyes seemed to shine at the prospect of not having to starve, but Harry insisted that stealing wasn't the solution. The child seemed angered by Harry's constant preaching._

" _You know what it's like! They did it to you, too! Those cruel people! While my idiot of a cousin grows fat from all the custard and pudding, I have to lick toffee wrappers so my growling stomach will be silent! I'm doing nothing wrong!"_

_Harry wasn't sure how to help this boy. He felt a weird sense of déjà vu, but he couldn't place it. Where did he know this child from?_

" _Don't you remember what it's like to be starved and beaten? Have you forgotten what it's like to be abused and treated worse than a servant boy? To hear your uncle and aunt tell people you had a mental illness and to be your cousin's punching bag at playtime? Don't you remember?"_

_By now, the boy's voice was growing louder and louder, echoing through Harry's head. The space around them seemed to be shrinking, and the boy seemed to be towering over him, furious emerald eyes glaring down at Harry. He felt claustrophobic and sick to the stomach. It was too real. The emotions were too real._

_The boy suddenly began to scream, and Harry scrunched his eyes and ears shut as a pit opened up below him and swallowed him up._

* * *

**7:02 AM**

He woke up feeling disgruntled and shaken. He didn't really remember all that much about the nightmare, but the lingering emotions that he felt sent shivers down his spine.

This was the first time he'd had a nightmare about his childhood abuse.

All his nightmares up until then had been about the war and death and helplessness and guilt. Nothing about what he had gone through as a child. So what had triggered this?

Harry sat up and rubbed his face, feeling cold and empty. This nightmare hadn't had the same impact as the most recent ones, but none of them had left him feeling as emotionally, physically and mentally drained as this one. He felt as if his very life was slowly seeping out of him. He could feel the familiar tug of hunger in his stomach; it reminded him of not having enough food, and it took him all of his willpower to keep from being sick.

Forcing himself to his feet, Harry trudged to the bathroom, cleaned himself up, and went downstairs.

He had expected to be greeted by three energetic shrieks and his wife's warm smile, but all he saw was a quiet, empty living room. Sighing, he quickly heated up some coffee, slathered butter and jam on cold bread, and bit into an apple. He ate a muffin and drank some orange juice for good measure, but even though he was full, it felt like there was still an empty, gaping pit in his stomach.

Disconcerted, he quickly made a call to Camilla's personal number—which he had gained as a result of their long chat the previous evening. It went to voicemail, and he disconnected the call. He looked around, unsure of what exactly he wanted to do, when the gnawing feeling in his stomach started to prickle. Groaning, he wondered if he'd eaten too much and decided to drink a digestive potion just in case, but a jolt of pain shot through him, and he clutched the counter, breathing in deeply as he tried to relax his tense muscles.

Something was wrong. His nightmares had never caused him any physical pain before. But no matter how much he tried to distract himself, he couldn't shake off the empty, gnawing sensation in his abdomen.

Starting to panic, he decided that it would be best to go to someone who could help him. The first person that came to mind was Camilla, and, taking in a deep breath, he focused on the image of a large, floating green plus sign and crisscrossing corridors as he spun on the spot.

He stumbled as he felt solid ground beneath his feet and used the wall to support himself. He was sweating now, and his breath was coming out in gasps. Quickly looking around, he realised he'd landed in the middle of the adjacent corridors of Antares, just beyond the Anti-Muggle spells. Thanking his lucky stars, he staggered down the left corridor. If he was going to hyperventilate and pass out, he didn't want to do it somewhere where people could see him.

He was now panting for breath and his stomach was churning.  _Stupid idea to stuff your face and then Apparate, Potter,_ he scolded himself.

Quelling the wave of nausea that swept over him, he turned right and hastened down the hallway, wondering why the hell there weren't any doors in sight. Agitated by this sudden bout of weakness, he leant against the wall for a moment and tried to get his breathing under control. He unfocused his gaze as he concentrated on breathing in through his nose and breathing out through his mouth, and just as he was able to breathe easier, the opposite wall slid open quietly. Before he could react, someone rushed out and down the way he had come. He stared at the wall as it slid back into place, heart hammering away in his chest.

He had hoped that whoever it was hadn't noticed him, but something about the slicked-back blond hair and immaculate white robes that he'd caught sight of as the person had rushed past was undeniably familiar. But the footsteps came to an abrupt halt, and Harry held his breath as he heard robes rustle, and a crisp, male voice addressed him.

"Potter?"

The familiar voice washed over him like a cool, soothing wave, and he turned slowly on the spot, his hammering heart racing in his chest. His mind was already on overdrive, so the sight of wide, stunned silver eyes and pale, slicked-back platinum locks did nothing to placate him in his frazzled state. He opened his mouth, intending to say something, but no words made it past his lips, leaving him standing there slack-jawed and looking utterly foolish.

He suddenly realised that, in his panic, he hadn't even disguised himself, and a sense of terror gripped at him as he stared at the wizard standing before him. The shock left him immobile, and the only thing he managed was to gasp out a single word in question.

"Malfoy?"


End file.
